The Dragon Unleashed
by DragonMaster000
Summary: Open war has once again descended upon the Dragon Realms. While Warfang struggles to pick itself back up out of the dust, their foe moves to expand their foothold and strengthen their numbers. To survive this coming storm Warfang will need every ally they can find, and Spyro will need to unleash the true purple dragon within him.
1. Chapter 1: Broken

**After a small break to recharge and re-collect my thoughts, I'm back and I bring you book 3 of the Broken Line saga! We left off in a bit of a dire spot with book 2, so let's see how our friends are faring in the aftermath.**

**Hope everyone's ready! Enjoy!**

* * *

_Chapter 1: Broken_

Evening had fallen. The cool whistle of the wind played a quiet tune that lulled the listener into a sense of peace, but it also warned of nature's bite as temperatures began to dip. As he listened, Meadow felt a mild shiver pass through him and he pulled his cloak more tightly around his shoulders.

A muffled curse from nearby spoke of greater discomfort, and Meadow looked over with a tiny smirk pulling at his lips. There another cheetah stood, though this one was fumbling with a much heavier coat, ears pulled back and arms visibly quivering.

"This cold is going to be the death of me," the cheetah snorted, his voice humorous but with a slight, bitter undertone. "How do you stand it, Meadow?"

The darker-furred cheetah offered a small chuckle. "It's not so bad. Winters in Avalar are similar to this."

The other cheetah scoffed and shook his head in good-natured bemusement. He looked down and kicked at the light dusting of snow that covered the rock shelf they stood upon, only to grimace and pull his foot back, shaking it.

"Yes, well, weather like this would be called an abomination back in the plains. I'm amazed you think this is normal, brother."

Meadow chuckled again, though he did feel a pang of sympathy. The other cheetah, named Sefu, came from a different world. That much was clear from his build alone, which was considerably leaner than Meadow's and sporting shorter, lighter fur. It was a build acclimated for the heat, not for weathering colder seasons. While Meadow's own tribe had adjusted well to life in Avalar over the generations, Sefu hailed from one of their brother tribes in the great plains of the savannah, far away on another continent: the ancestral home of the cheetah species.

"What I don't understand is why host this gathering in the mountains of all places? Surely there were more..._climate-neutral_ locales available."

Meadow paused and turned his gaze out to their surroundings, where a broad chain of low mountain peaks stretched across the horizon. The air bore a sharp crispness to it on every breath, cold but clean and pure. Aside from the faint wind and the torches nearby there wasn't a sound to be heard. With the sun having already descended the first stars were beginning to appear as evening waned into night, looking brighter and clearer than Meadow could ever remember seeing. It instilled an undeniable feeling of peace, despite the harsh, cold edge to it all.

"It suits our needs well," he finally spoke. "It's quiet, secluded, and far from distractions. It's a suitable place for our tribes to focus on the nation's future."

Sefu let out a small, thoughtful grunt. "That's true. And I don't mean to be ungrateful to our hosts. The cougars have been very accommodating to all of us. Even so, I won't be disappointed when the time comes to return home."

He shot a wry grin to his companion and Meadow smiled as well, but just then Sefu shivered from another passing gust of wind. Their conversation lulled for a moment when a trio of lionesses strode past them from the slopes below, bundled up similarly to Sefu and carrying a pair of mountain goats over their shoulders. The two cheetahs nodded respectfully as they passed, their feline cousins returning the gesture before disappearing through the canvas-covered entranceway into the caves behind them.

"How do you suppose our chiefs are faring?" Sefu asked at length.

Meadow frowned thoughtfully. Though proceedings had already adjourned for the day, not all of the tribal chiefs had departed the main gathering hall as of yet. Debate over the Feline Nation's next priorities had become somewhat heated over the course of the day, and now a handful of the more invested chiefs were still engaged inside.

"I wouldn't be surprised if their patience is getting a bit frayed by this point," Meadow commented at length. "All of this debate certainly doesn't mesh well with Chief Prowlus' own leadership philosophy."

"I think Chief Akachi feels similarly," Sefu nodded. "Acting swiftly and with conviction; that is the cheetah way, not all of this endless back and forth."

Meadow grunted in affirmation. While he considered himself to be one of the more patient and level-headed members of his tribe, he did still feel a gnawing sense of frustration with how the feline summit's progress seemed to have ground to a standstill in places. All of this minutia cropping up and bogging down proceedings, old grudges and disputes...it just subtracted focus from the real purpose of this gathering: getting their nation back up on its feet after an age of war had splintered them apart. He wished everyone could pick a decisive next step and commit to it, adjusting if necessary down the line but at least moving somewhere.

"Well, hopefully they decide to leave matters be for the night," Sefu sighed. "I think those lionesses had the right idea. I'm sure our chiefs would appreciate a meal once they..."

He trailed off when a shrill screech echoed from across the mountainside, coming from somewhere to the southeast. Frowning, Meadow squinted into the darkening sky until he spotted movement overhead. He quickly picked out the shape of a falcon, and as it approached it wasn't long before he could recognize it.

"Another message from home?" Sefu asked, glancing at Meadow curiously.

Meadow raised his arm for Hunter's falcon to perch upon, ready to listen, but instead of relaying its message in the usual chirps and trills of the falcons' language it simply sat in silence. That was when Meadow noticed the rolled up sheet of parchment in a small leather tube secured to the falcon's back. Curious now, he withdrew it and began unrolling it after the falcon hopped from his arm and flapped over to a nearby outcrop on the rocks. It was addressed to Chief Prowlus, but even so Meadow read on; this was common, as the chief preferred to hear a summarized report from Meadow rather than listen to or re-read the original in its entirety.

_To Chief Prowlus,_

_I send this message with the utmost urgency. Warfang has been attacked..._

Meadow faltered, his body tensing as a rush of surprise and confusion shot through him. Attacked? He read over those words again to make sure he wasn't mistaken.

He wasn't. Trepidation bubbled up within him, urging him to read on with new haste. Every line caused the sense of anxiety and dread within his gut to swell, his posture growing ever more rigid. True, Hunter's latest messages had relayed an unsettling pattern of escalating events, starting with news of the destroyed mole village, followed by word of Spyro suddenly departing to the White Isle for 'emergency assistance' from the Chronicler, but even so the gravity of the news in this letter caught Meadow off guard.

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

Sefu had noticed the shift in Meadow's bearing by this point. He leaned closer.

"What is it?"

Meadow didn't answer. Seized by a new feeling of urgency, he spun on his feet and ran over to the cave entrance, throwing the canvas flaps aside. Sefu gave a startled exclamation and followed.

The passage within was wide and warmly lit, both by torches and the small fire pits set into the walls that offered convenient gathering places for residents and guests alike. At this late hour there were only a few other people in sight—a lynx was leaning against one wall conversing with a leopard, while the lionesses from before were just a few paces ahead. Meadow offered a short apology as he rushed past, narrowly avoiding bumping into them. After a very short sprint the two cheetahs arrived at a bend in the corridor, a large wooden archway denoting the entrance to the main gathering hall. As they approached Meadow could hear voices from within.

"...just want to be sure our time remains focused on our most pressing priorities," one deep voice stated. "We've spent so much of it spinning in circles on internal disagreements when the external security of our nation as a whole is still up in the air."

"Your priorities are not universal," a female voice rebutted. "We face no such external threat in the jungles, but the violation of our sacred hunting grounds in recent generations is an affront to our culture that cannot go ignored by my people."

"You're describing a situation where both parties at least dwell within the same nation, where common laws ensure that the option for discourse is always open," Prowlus' familiar voice noted impatiently. "Meanwhile, our brothers in the savannah are having their territories raided by hyena packs and no effort at diplomacy has been reciprocated. The lions face the same problem. We need to make sure our tribes are in a united position to repel them if the need for it comes."

At that moment Meadow rounded the corner of the doorway and drew to a halt at the threshold. Within the chamber he could see four figures seated around a broad, dark wooden table. Prowlus and Chief Akachi sat side by side, their backs facing the main entranceway, while across from them sat a pantheress with smooth black fur. At another seat of the table one of the cougars was present, the host tribe of the gathering also taking on a mediary role in these discussions.

"There will be no unity while the tigers remain as invaders in our ancestral lands," the pantheress growled. "I don't want this to escalate, but whether I wish it or not my people will not take this provocation idly."

"And while your tribe and the tigers bicker, rivals to our collective nation look to exploit our vulnerability while we are still splintered and recovering from an age of war," Akachi declared adamantly. "If we focus all of our attention on our own grievances now, we give them more of an opportunity to wound us."

"If I may," the cougar interjected. "While your argument is reasonable, Chief Akachi, it sounds like your proposed solution to our post-war struggles is more war."

"War is not our goal," Prowlus replied, "but outside aggression into our nation's territories has to be met with an iron wall or they'll just keep pushing further. We..."

His ear twitched and he trailed off when he became aware of Meadow and Sefu approaching. Turning in his seat, he cast a disapproving scowl toward the newcomers.

"Apologies for the interruption, Chief Prowlus," Meadow told him, holding up the parchment in his hand. "Hunter sends an urgent message from Warfang."

Prowlus' scowl deepened, and he let out a faint huff.

"Warfang's business can wait until we've concluded things here."

He turned to face the table again, but Meadow wasn't going to back down.

"Terrador is dead."

Silence. Everything had gone still, Meadow's declaration hanging in the air with an oppressive weight. Slowly, the other felines in the room fixed their full attention upon him.

"Terrador?" the cougar representative asked. "The dragon Guardian?"

Prowlus twisted around to face Meadow directly, his expression stern and masked. Even so, Meadow could still make out the surprise in his posture.

"How did it happen?" he finally spoke. "Did Hunter elaborate?"

Meadow nodded, taking a silent breath. "He was killed in battle. Warfang fell victim to a surprise assault by the wraiths, only days ago."

"Wraiths?" Chief Akachi repeated, glancing between Meadow and Prowlus. "These are the new monsters roaming around that you mentioned before?"

Prowlus merely nodded, his gaze still on Meadow, waiting for him to continue.

"Apparently they struck from within the city's walls," Meadow obliged, "and in the ensuing chaos they attacked both citizens and soldiers indiscriminately. While the Guardians were trying to rally a response across the city, they were attacked by a new purple dragon who was leading the wraiths."

Startled expressions met these words, another short span of silence filling the chamber.

"Wait," the pantheress eventually spoke up. "Hold on. A new one? As in, not one of the ones you've already told us about? There's _another_ one now?"

Prowlus' gaze had become even more piercing and intense, clearly with the same question on his mind. Meadow could only nod once.

"Yes. A dragoness, one who goes by the name of Tyrannica. Hunter's report does not offer much explanation to her origins, but he made sure to stress that she is both powerful and incredibly dangerous. She was the one who killed Terrador during her battle with the Guardians."

More silence. Grave looks had come over the expressions of most of the other felines in the room, all of the representatives digesting this news. Even outside of the dragon realms, knowledge of the Guardians' strength was far reaching. Tales of Terrador's battlefield prowess were just as widely known, and so hearing of an enemy capable of besting him in direct combat—and while outnumbered no less—was not something to be ignored. Prowlus in particular gave a heavy sigh and dragged a hand across his face.

"What's the situation now, then?" he finally asked.

"The attack was eventually repelled," Meadow said, looking down and scanning through Hunter's message again. "Spyro and Nexus arrived in time to sway the battle in Warfang's favour. However, the city suffered extensive damage. The number of dead and wounded is still unknown. What Hunter could tell us is that the surviving three Guardians, Spyro, and Nexus were all badly wounded, some critically so. All of the city's major medical facilities were destroyed, as well as significant parts of its government and military infrastructure. Warfang survived, but it has been crippled."

Another pause followed the cheetah's account as the gathered felines mulled over this latest information, weighing the significance of it.

"So much for post-war reconstruction, then," the pantheress eventually sighed, "because it sounds like we'll be hunkering down to wait out another one imminently."

"What are your thoughts, Chief Prowlus?" the cougar asked. "The feline nation has been neutral in the dragons' affairs, but I know your tribe has had closer ties to them in recent times than the rest of us."

Prowlus didn't reply for a moment, eyes downcast with a tense, thoughtful frown dominating his features. At length he released a drawn out, resigned sigh.

"Send a response back to Hunter, and to the tribe," he told Meadow. "Inform them of what has happened if Hunter hasn't already, and instruct them to prepare an expedition to bring aid to the city. Make sure they're armed in case wraiths are lingering in the area after the attack."

Meadow nodded. "Yes, Chief."

"Is there any help that we can offer?"

Prowlus blinked and turned to face Chief Akachi inquisitively.

"It sounds like this situation in the Dragon Realms is boiling over," the other cheetah explained, "and your tribe is at risk of being caught in the middle of it. The savannah tribe will be glad to come to the support of our brothers if it is needed."

Prowlus considered this for a moment, but his face was still set in a frown.

"You have the safety of your own borders to concern yourself with," he said at length.

"Yes, but my offer still stands. The hyena raids are a problem, but in comparison to a city of Warfang's scale being crippled so close to your tribe's lands...I think our panther colleague has a point: This foreshadows a much larger conflict. When the dragons are involved, things tend to escalate."

Prowlus uttered a humourless snort, clearly in agreement with that. Meadow himself couldn't quite disagree either, though he did think the intent behind the statement was a bit unfair. If an enemy had amassed the strength to attack the dragons in the first place, it stood to reason that war on a larger scale was already on their mind. One didn't simply skirmish with a foe as powerful as a dragon. To do so without following through would be suicide.

"I'll keep your offer in mind," Prowlus said at length. "In the meantime, I will wait and see what future reports from Hunter state on the situation. If things do escalate, I may have to return to my people. I suspect the dragons will need all of their allies with them if it comes to that."

"So you do still consider the dragons allies of your tribe, despite the greater Feline Nation's neutrality?" the pantheress asked curiously.

"That does seem like a very individual stance to take for someone who was arguing for unity just a moment before," the cougar remarked, also sounding quizzical.

Prowlus let out another distasteful sigh.

"Dragons breed conflict," he stated, his tone firm. "There's no argument about that, and usually it brings trouble to anyone near them, whether they're allies of the dragons or not. That said, in those conflicts the dragons have always fought on the side of preserving balance. Don't get me wrong; they're prideful and self-important in that role, and sometimes the balance they're trying to maintain is their own position of supremacy, but even so there are still two undeniable facts that have to be considered:

"First, the dragons are always loyal to the ones they call friends. If it was my tribe that was in peril, Warfang would be there. As much as I disagree with how they do a lot of things, that's something I have to respect.

"Second, the enemy that they're facing now—this purple dragon monster, Ragnor, and his underlings—will not stop with _just_ the conquest of the Dragon Realms. All nations will follow. By fighting against him, the dragons are acting as a first line of defence for all of us. If they fall, so do we."

Meadow observed Prowlus silently for a long moment after he'd concluded his argument, contemplating his words. It was no secret back home in Avalar that Prowlus disliked dragons, but it was also no secret that he supported the tribe's ties with Warfang. Prowlus was practical, and the advantages of those ties were evident enough. However, this was the first time Meadow had heard his chief declare his position on the matter so openly and thoroughly, and it placed his support in a new light that Meadow hadn't entirely expected. It almost sounded like he respected their magical neighbours in his own sour and begrudging way.

The other listeners were likewise contemplating Prowlus' statement with great care. Chief Akachi's expression had turned more and more grim as he'd listened to the Avalarian's reasoning, but he wasn't withdrawing his support. If anything, he just seemed more determined to give it. Sefu had a similar determined air about him. Meanwhile, the cougar and panther representatives exchanged a thoughtful look.

"This will need to be brought before the other tribe leaders tomorrow, I think," the cougar finally spoke.

The pantheress nodded her head. "I agree. If this is going to affect all of us, then it's a matter that all of us deserve to weigh in on."

"I think it best if we adjourn our earlier discussions for the night, then," Chief Akachi suggested. "It's been a long day already, and it sounds like they're just going to get longer after this."

More nods answered him. Without another word the panther and cougar rose from their seats and began silently pacing toward the chamber exits. Prowlus released a long, weary sigh, sagging back into his chair and massaging his temple. A few seconds later he opened one eye and gazed up at Meadow.

"Well? That message isn't going to send itself."

Meadow nodded promptly. "Of course, Chief."

He turned about and strode out of the chamber the way he'd come, heading for his quarters to begin writing. All the while, a squirming pit of worry and fear began to take form within his gut.

How bad _was_ the damage to the city? Hunter's message had been too sparse on details for Meadow to be able to guess the full aftermath of the battle, leaving his mind free to make up countless different scenarios. Besides Terrador, how many others had been killed? How many hurt? And what of his friends?

All he could do was silently hope that things turned out alright.

***.*.***

The air was still, and silence hung over the fields in the waning light of dusk. The land appeared peaceful, a small family of deer even visible just within a copse of trees not far away. They peered out warily at the cluster of dragons that were presently gathered in the open grassland, watching one in particular that stood nearest to them, pacing almost randomly about.

The wind dragon was on edge, despite the apparent tranquility of their surroundings. He wasn't the only one; of the half dozen cloudy grey and pale sky-blue wind dragons and dragonesses that made up the party behind him, every single one of them had their heads high and their gazes anxiously scanning the land around them. No one was willing to let their guard down when even the slightest possibility existed that wraiths could be watching.

No one knew if there _were_ any wraiths in this area, of course. They were out in the middle of nowhere, far from their home in Sky Haven and many, many miles beyond the range that even their most far-reaching scouts patrolled. This was no patrol, however. The heavy-laden satchels that were piled in the middle of the group attested to that, some with a faint emerald and ruby shine emanating from the bulging edges of the bags' coverings—spirit gems. This was a relief mission.

When news first arrived at Sky Haven of the wraiths' surprise assault on Warfang, it had come as a tremendous shock to everyone in the city. While word had travelled from the dragon capital of the new wraith threat, it had only come as a precautionary warning and not as a notice of imminent conflict. They had not been prepared for the gravity of the news that the exhausted wind dragon messenger had carried with him when he lurched his way onto Sky Haven's main landing platform. The poor dragon had nearly collapsed from sheer fatigue the moment his paws touched stone, reporting that he had flown the entire distance from Warfang without stopping for fear of being ambushed by wraiths if he set down to rest for even a moment. Even for a wind dragon, that was a daunting feat.

Sky Haven's council had convened immediately, and in very short order a consensus had been reached, all members agreeing that efforts should be made to assist Warfang in its recovery as quickly as possible. They had signed a declaration of unity with the great dragon city, after all, and Sky Haven's massive stores of spirit gems would be of unquestionable importance in the aftermath of the attack. A party of volunteers was assembled by mid morning the next day, bags packed full with as many supplies as they could carry, and a liaison was appointed to assess the true extent of the damage and recommend follow-up action. Councillor Kaver was chosen.

Now, the councillor wasn't sure if he regretting putting his name forth as a candidate for the role or not. On the one paw he wanted to help in any way he could, and he wasn't sure he would be able to bear just sitting back in Sky Haven wondering what was going on. On the other paw, though, this was undeniably dangerous. The messenger from Warfang hadn't been able to confirm whether there were any wraith forces still lingering around the city or not, but the general assumption was 'yes'. Now, here they all were, sitting out in the open with darkness falling, completely exposed.

If there were any wraiths in the area, Kaver doubted they would get any warning before they struck. There was nothing they could do except watch and wait, and the gnawing uncertainty was taking its toll on his nerves.

Movement flashed at the corner of his vision and Kaver flinched, head ducking down and wings flaring from his instinctive flight reflex. Some of the other party members likewise tensed in response, wings half unfurling. A second later Kaver relaxed with a groan when he realized that the source of motion was another one of their party members, though, moving in the trees toward the deer that he had noted just before. There was another blur as the dragon lunged, and the sound of a brief scuffle reached him from the distance before silence once again fell. Only a moment later the hunter was winging his way back to the group with his catch in tow.

"Sorry it's not much," the dragon said after dropping the buck near the cluster of travellers. "The others bolted, and I figured we didn't want to wait around here while I chased them down."

"That's fine," Kaver replied, offering a quick appreciative smile. "It was a wise decision. This should help tide us over until we reach the city at least."

The other members of the group had already moved over to the carcass and were breaking off portions for themselves. The buck was a good catch, of healthy size and weight, but split between a total of eight dragons the meal ended up being hardly more than a mouthful. No one complained, however, all of them sharing the same mindset as the hunter's: Better to eat a quick, small meal than to linger in potentially dangerous land. Kaver's eyes never stopped scanning the surrounding field as he ate, and he wasn't the only one. His wings itched to fly, high and fast away from this place.

"Okay, everyone load up," he said only a minute later when he saw that the other party members were finishing. "Is everyone fit for the last stretch of this flight? I'd rather not stop again until we reach the city, so we'll be flying through the night. Speak now if you have any reservations."

No objections came. Without so much as a word the dragons set to work donning their bags, sliding their wings through the straps and helping each other tighten the buckles until the satchels rested securely against their flanks. As soon as Kaver had finished with his own bags he spread his wings and shot up into the sky, long wings powering against the added weight of his cargo. The wind swirled at his call, aiding him in his climb. Soon the thin scattering of clouds lay below him, and there he circled while the rest of the party joined him in the air.

"Everyone ready?"

Seven nods and quick affirmations answered him. Satisfied, Kaver turned toward the southwest and set off, his wings propelling him rapidly through the sky. His companions caught up in short order, gathering closely around him.

A tailwind materialized to boost their progress toward the capital, fuelled by the combined efforts of the party members. Sharing the magical load meant that the mana demand on each individual dragon was miniscule, and Kaver was confident that they would have no trouble sustaining it until they reached Warfang. Though they were all weary from the previous day's travel, having only managed a scant couple of hours of sleep in the fields, they all had strength enough to complete the journey. They could rest when they reached the relative safety of Warfang. Until then, there were people depending on the supplies they carried.

Kaver was just glad to be underway again, high in the sky where the wraiths could never reach him. A long, slow breath seeped out of him as he allowed the tension in his body to begin fading. Though he was still worried about what they would find at Warfang, for now he was content just to be in the air. The sky was their sanctuary. They were untouchable here.

Before long the last light of the sun had melted into the horizon, and the air took on a biting chill—though the wind dragons were accustomed to the cold of high altitudes and were unbothered. The stars were thankfully clear this night, the moons dim and low on the horizon, allowing the group to navigate without trouble. Some brief conversations between members rose and fell, but mostly they flew in silence, grimly wondering what lay ahead of them.

Kaver went over the messenger's report in his mind for what must have been the hundredth time, trying to anticipate the sights they would be greeted with, hoping to prevent himself from being caught off guard. The report had been grave: buildings destroyed, streets littered with debris, fires, scores of people killed and countless more wounded...It was all grimly reminiscent of the stories he had heard about the fates that befell many settlements during the war against Malefor and his apes, but with the exception of the Golem attack this was the first time he'd heard of Warfang finding itself in such disarray. After spending his life hidden and sheltered in a city that had been untouched by the war's hardships, he didn't know whether he was really prepared for this.

He pushed those worries into the back of his mind, however, knowing that he couldn't let them interfere with his task. With Warfang's major medical facilities and stockpiles destroyed, the supplies that he and his companions carried were absolutely invaluable. Their mission was of the utmost importance. They couldn't falter.

_I hope Spyro and Cynder are well_, he thought to himself, fondly remembering the two young ambassadors that he had met and guided only a short time ago. In fact it almost felt like it had been yesterday, and Kaver found himself wondering how things had turned upside down so quickly.

The night passed at a crawl. With only the stars above them and darkness below, there was almost nothing to occupy the travellers' time aside from dark thoughts of Warfang and the wraiths. On they flew, hour after hour, until an eternity later the eastern horizon began to brighten behind them. Kaver's eyelids weighed heavily upon their sockets and his wings felt like lead, but he still managed a small relieved smile as the blackness of night receded. Finally, after one more hour of flying the walls of Warfang appeared in the distance ahead of them, and Kaver let out a hearty sigh.

"Almost there," he called back to the rest of the travellers. "Heads up. We'll be able to rest soon."

Several groans and murmurs of relief met his ears. Kaver smiled again, but his expression sobered when he fixed his eyes forward once more. What would they find when they arrived?

They were surprised when, before they had even reached the city, a call rang out from below. Turning his eyes downward in confusion, Kaver soon picked out the shapes of three dragons in light armour winging their way up toward the newcomers—a patrol, from the looks of it. Signalling with his wing to his companions, the councillor began a spiralling descent to meet them.

"Halt, travellers! State your business!" the leading guard ordered them as they approached. He was an electricity dragon, and his bearing was both curious and intense as he scrutinized the new arrivals.

"We've come from Sky Haven," Kaver answered, keeping his tone calm. "My name is Kaver, and I'm a member of the city's governing council. We received word of the attack from your messenger. We're here with spirit gems and other supplies to provide relief."

The guard's expression quickly softened, his eyes widening at this news.

"Sky Haven?" he asked, his gaze settling on the bags that the wind dragons carried. Relief and gratitude emanated from him. "That is very generous. Thank you."

"It's the least we can do," Kaver replied. "Now, please, can you direct us to the Guardians or your captain so that we can begin distribution?"

"Of course," the guard nodded. "Please, follow me."

The other two guards returned to their patrol route while the electricity dragon turned toward Warfang. Kaver and the other wind dragons fell into place behind him, the city walls growing steadily larger ahead.

It was then that Kaver noticed the smoke, and he felt his gut tighten with a growing sense of dread. Not long after that the group climbed to bypass a rise in the terrain, and his jaw fell open in shock.

When he'd heard the messenger's report he had imagined all sorts of gruesome pictures and scenarios in his head. Somehow, he still hadn't been prepared for the real thing.

From the outside the wall had been deceptively pristine. Anyone passing on the ground could mistake the city for being completely intact. The only obvious exception was the main gate in the north, which had completely collapsed in on itself with mounds of stone debris scattered outward in evidence of a powerful explosion. Inside the walls, however, things were anything but pristine.

Simply put, it was a mess.

Gaping cracks ran through the streets as though the earth itself had been carved up by a titan's claws, turning immaculate cobblestone roadways into a jagged, treacherous labyrinth. Evidence of an earthquake spread further, splintered roofs and crumbling walls visible on many of the buildings down below them. Some towers had buckled completely, toppling over and crushing entire blocks of smaller buildings beneath them. Kaver felt his stomach churn at the sight of houses among them.

There were more signs of explosions too. Whole clusters of buildings had been levelled by the blasts, the epicenters almost always radiating from larger structures that must have been of significance to be targeted for destruction. The explosions had torn them completely apart from the inside out, collapsing neighbouring buildings as well. Ash and smoke were heavy in the air, left over from the fires that must have ensued, though mercifully the blazes all appeared to have been extinguished by this point.

Most unnerving of all was the deep violet glow that shone through the grey haze, emanating from the towering masses of crystal that had punched straight up out of the earth, blocking off streets and tearing through any buildings in their path. They crackled with dangerous power, and even from this distance Kaver felt a malignant chill seep through his being.

He recalled the messenger's report, stating that a previously unknown purple dragoness had spearheaded the assault upon the city. Part of Kaver had wanted to deny it, finding it too outlandish to conceive, but the evidence here was plain to see. That a lone dragoness could cause this scale of devastation, however...He shuddered at the thought.

In spite of the early hour, the city was far from quiet. Crews of moles were diligently chipping away at the growths of dark crystal with pickaxes and hammers, trying to clear safe passage for their dragon compatriots. Countless more moved in the streets, using makeshift bridges fashioned from long planks of wood to traverse the dangerous crevices. Dragons pulled carts behind them in areas that were free of the evil crystals, helping the moles to clear away the debris that choked the city's walkways. Residents whose homes had been destroyed could be seen picking through the wreckage, trying to salvage anything they could. Others whose dwellings remained standing had still had their belongings ransacked by the invaders, and now they were left to try and clean up what remained.

Conspicuous among the chaos were other dragons moving slowly through the streets, pulling more carts in their wake, but these were covered by thick sheets. Kaver spotted one cart in particular that was loaded nearly to overflowing. From beneath the covering, the end of a scaly blue tail dangled limply.

Kaver quickly looked away, his stomach clenching.

The guard's face was dark and tense as he led the travellers over the devastation, and Kaver could feel a swell of sympathy toward him. He couldn't imagine how he would feel if it was his own home that had suffered this fate and he was forced to fly above it again and again as part of his duties. He thought of saying something, but no words came to mind and at length he gave up with a sigh. Behind him the other wind dragons were likewise silent, their wide-eyed gazes fixed upon the city below.

Eventually the councillor caught sight of what he assumed was their destination. A large open square stretched out ahead of them, which Kaver assumed was meant for use as a market venue or festival grounds based on the size. It was currently being employed for the farthest thing from a festive occasion, however. The grounds were packed with rows upon rows of plain, square stone huts, the interiors illuminated by flickering torches and candlelight. People of all races moved in the narrow walkways between the shelters, some dressed in white healers' garments, their uniforms worn and stained from a never-ending shift treating the countless wounded. Others limped along with strips of bandage and scraps of cloth wrapped across their forms, while yet others were carried upon stretchers and carts.

Guards in full armour also littered the square, marching with an air of stern, focused determination about them, their harsh glares boring into anything that moved in the surrounding streets, patrolling every open space. Moles with longbows and crossbows were posted on the huts' roofs, just as focused and grim as their colleagues on the ground. Kaver was once again taken aback by the sight.

"By the Ancestors," one of the other wind dragons muttered. "I've never seen anything like this."

Their guide nodded darkly. "The wraiths made a point of proving that nowhere in the city was safe during the attack. We won't be making the mistake of thinking otherwise again while so many people are vulnerable."

"Are there more sites like this in the city?" Kaver asked uneasily.

"Two more," the guard replied. "This one is the largest, but it was impossible to bring everyone that needed treatment here so the healers had to split up their operations."

Kaver felt the knot in his stomach tighten, and he glanced back at the cargo that he and his companions carried. He had known already that the gems and supplies that the eight dragons could carry on their backs wouldn't be enough for the whole city's needs, but now it looked like they wouldn't even have enough for this one site alone...

"Come on," the guard continued. "There isn't room to land inside the compound. We'll have to walk the rest of the way to the headquarters, then we can distribute your supplies from there."

He angled his nose downward, aiming for the nearest corner of the square. Kaver descended after him, the rest of his party following. The people below them hastily moved aside as the nine dragons came in to land, dust and ash swirling from the gust their wings kicked up. Kaver noticed many quizzical and suspicious gazes turn their way, but just like the electricity dragon guard their faces softened and brightened ever so slightly when they noticed the cargo the newcomers bore. Kaver felt a tiny portion of the weight on chest lift at this sight. It seemed insignificant, but he knew every little bit of hope probably helped in a situation like this.

"Private," a stern voice abruptly called out, causing Kaver to start and turn around. "What have we here?"

"Captain," the guard answered sharply, straightening to attention. "Aid from Sky Haven. I was just bringing them to the headquarters."

A tall, armoured wind dragon came to a halt a couple of paces away from the group. His grey scales were marked with numerous cuts and scratches, some of the larger ones covered in an herbal paste to help keep them sealed and prevent dirt and grime from entering them. The captain stood firm in spite of them, showing no outward sign of his discomfort. His piercing blue eyes stared out from beneath the lip of his helm, swivelling to take in the new arrivals one at a time.

"Councillor Kaver," he said, a flash of surprise crossing his expression at the sight of the party's leader. "This is unexpected."

"Boreas," Kaver replied, a smile breaking through his own surprised look. "It's good to see a familiar face already."

Boreas merely grunted, though his eyes warmed considerably when he took in the bags of supplies that his fellow wind dragons had brought.

"You mentioned aid, private?"

"Yes sir," the electricity dragon answered with a quick nod. "Spirit gems and other medical supplies."

Boreas let out a thoughtful hum. "Then it looks like we're in your debt, Councillor. These supplies are going to help more than you can imagine. I'm sure the Guardians will give you their deepest gratitude for this."

Kaver's smile widened a touch. "As I told your guard here, this was the least we could do. More will come."

The normally stoic dragon's muzzle twitched up in a brief, rare smile of his own. "That will come as an enormous relief." He promptly returned to his business-like demeanour, his eyes steeling over once more. "Let's not waste any time here, then. Private, you can return to your post. Thank you for your assistance."

The electricity dragon saluted smartly with his wing and launched himself back into the sky, heading off to the north to rejoin his patrol-mates. Kaver focused his attention back upon Boreas just as the wind dragon captain beckoned with a wing.

"This way, please. The healers will be eager to begin distributing these supplies as soon as possible."

Kaver nodded. "Of course."

Boreas turned to his right, beginning a brisk walk along the perimeter of the square, workers and other passers-by promptly moving out of the way as he passed. Kaver fell into step with him.

"It's good to see that you're alright, Captain," Kaver told him. "When we heard of the attack back in Sky Haven we were quite worried."

Boreas offered another ghost of a smile. "I'm touched, Councillor. I certainly could have fared worse."

"And your family? How are they?"

"Also okay, all things considered," Boreas nodded, and Kaver let out the breath he'd been silently holding. "They got banged up in the attack, same as everyone, but thankfully they'll both recover."

"Nothing too serious, I hope."

"Gale took a couple of nasty cuts, but she's healing well," Boreas said. His eyes darkened then, his muzzle tightening. "Chinook is in worse shape. Multiple broken ribs."

Kaver flinched, his eyes widening in concern. "But he will be alright?"

"Eventually," Boreas nodded, letting out a huff. "It's a small miracle, if anything. If he'd stayed in the shelter with Gale he would have been fine, but something possessed him into thinking that flying off to fight that purple dragoness head on was a good idea."

Kaver recoiled even further. "He did what?"

Boreas' only reply was a gruff snort. Kaver's gaze drifted away as he puzzled over this news. The captain's son had always had a reputation for mischief back in Sky Haven, but this was an entirely new level of recklessness.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Boreas made a sharp right turn down the main walkway that bisected the field hospital into two halves, and all at once the group was enveloped with noise. A multitude of voices were layered on top of each other, some calling orders and instructions as the healers laboured, others forming a faint, haunting chorus of pain and torment from the wounded. To Kaver's surprise the hut's entrances were all open, only allowing the pitiful noise to flow out into the open air more easily. He would have expected the doorways to be covered with sheets at least for privacy and sanitation's sake, but it appeared that every spare bit of cloth that could be found had been repurposed for splints and bandage wrapping. He tried not to look inside of any of the stone structures, both to avoid disturbing the patients within and fearing what he might see.

A minute later the councillor spotted a pair of larger constructions that he assumed must be their destination, flanking the walkway on either side and standing out from the rest of the tightly-packed shelters by scale if nothing else. Without hesitation Boreas angled for the open doorway of the building on the right as soon as they'd arrived, disappearing inside. Kaver made to follow, but movement on his left caught his eye. When he registered the colour purple he faltered, his gaze settling upon the adolescent dragon that had just stepped around the corner of the other main building.

For a fleeting second Kaver thought the young dragon was Spyro, and a shot of relief filled him before he promptly realized his mistake and the feeling withered into confusion once more. The shape of this youth's horns and muzzle were wrong, and the bronze streaks across his scales didn't match Kaver's memory of Spyro at all. The red tinge of his eyes lent a harsh and piercing air to his gaze as he peered back at the wind dragons, even if one of them was partially obscured by the strips of dirty cloth that were wrapped around the left side of his head. Despite the fact that he was many times smaller in stature than the adult dragons, there was still an intimidating presence about him. Kaver felt a nervous tingle run down his spine.

"Isn't he the one that attacked Warfang and all those other villages before?" one of the other wind dragons whispered.

The purple dragon's cold gaze swept down toward the supplies the newcomers were carrying, then back up to meet Kaver's stare. He said nothing, though, his expression masked. A moment later he turned and walked into the stone hut on the other side of the path, disappearing from sight. The only thing that Kaver could feel in the wake of this encounter was more confusion.

"Councillor," Boreas' firm voice called from within the first building, and with a mild start Kaver swung his head around to see the armoured dragon looking out at them from just inside the doorway. Shaking his head, Kaver brought his mind back to the task at paw and followed the captain inside, the other wind dragons doing the same.

The interior of the structure was just as plain as the outside, and also just as busy. Dozens of moles and a small pawful of dragons working at a tiresome pace to deliver as much care for the city's wounded as they could with the meager amount of supplies at their disposal.

Long, flat stone workbenches had been erected along the walls of the building, larger tables filling the space in between. Along one wall a group of moles were sorting a variety of herbs into small piles while others used mortars and pestles to crush them into pastes, scooping the concoctions into small wooden bowls or mixing them into cauldrons with boiling water to serve as oral remedies and painkillers. Against the next wall they were stripping down pieces of broken timber to use as splints. Nearby another couple of moles were deconstructing fabrics from clothing, bed sheets, drapes, tapestries and pretty much anything else they could get their hands on, setting the cloth aside for bandages while saving the thread for stitches.

Nearer to the entrance, an ice dragon and a fire dragon were working together to fill metal vats with clean water, which a crew of moles were using to scrub as much blood and dirt as possible out of a pile of more used bandage wrappings. The realization that the healers were forced to reuse bandages in spite of the tremendous sanitation risk struck Kaver more starkly than anything he had seen yet, and it was only then that he appreciated just how desperate the situation within the city truly was.

Fortunately there was another discovery of a more positive nature to be found here, in the form of a second familiar face amongst the chaos. At the end of the nearest workbench, sitting down next to a small pile of freshly washed bandages, was an unmistakeable dragoness of midnight black scales. Cynder was leaning over one of the tubs of water that had just been carted over to her, carefully dribbling a thin stream of venom into it from her jaws. An older mole stood at her side, surveying the poison as it dripped into the vat. He was constantly looking between a scattering of thin flower petals that were floating on the water's surface, causing Kaver to frown in confusion until the petals began to shift from a cool blue-purple colouring to a more vibrant red.

"That's good," the mole abruptly declared, holding a hand up. "That should be concentrated enough, Cynder. Now, let's see about getting these wrappings sterilized as quickly as we can."

The dragoness nodded, pausing just long enough to wipe a forepaw across her eyes and stifle a yawn.

"Sure thing, Geldric," she said, and Kaver could easily hear the weariness in her voice. Like the party of wind dragons it appeared that she had been up through the night, and Kaver frowned sympathetically.

Despite her fatigue, the dragoness didn't falter in her work. Reaching over to the pile of old wrappings—which still bore notable patches of a faded red colouring even after washing—she picked up a long strip of fabric between her forepaws and dipped it into the tub of water before her, holding it beneath the surface for several seconds and wringing the water through it. Once done she pulled the bandage up, squeezed as much water out of it as she could, and set it aside to start a new pile before repeating the process. She didn't look up once as she laboured at her task, not even noticing the wind dragons' arrival, and in her eyes Kaver could make out the same grim, hard resolve that he had seen in many of the guards and workers so far.

Just at that moment he noticed Boreas moving farther ahead of him, stepping toward a slightly smaller ice dragon with a white cloak draped over his back and shoulders, the fabric in a similar dishevelled state as many of the mole healers.

"Fresh supplies for you, doctor," the captain reported.

The ice dragon's head perked upward, and he turned around to face the newcomers.

"Supplies?" he repeated, and the moment his eyes fell upon the group of travelers they widened in noticeable surprise.

Taking note of the healer's inquisitive stare, Kaver slipped his bags off with the help of one of his colleagues and set it down before the other dragon. The healer moved forward, reaching to undo the straps securing the bag shut. When he opened the flap the comforting glow of spirit gems shone forth, and immediately the dragon's body seemed to deflate, the stiff tension that had been wracking his form leaving him in one great, relieved breath.

"We brought as much as we could without slowing our flight too much," Kaver spoke up. "Along with the spirit gems we also have clean bandages some other medicines. We know that it's not much, but—"

"Not much?" the healer cut him off, meeting the wind dragon's gaze with a shocked one of his own. "These supplies will help us more than you imagine. They will save dozens of lives that we simply didn't have the means to before! This is incredible. Thank you!"

Kaver hesitated for a second, caught off guard by the emphasis with which the healer spoke, but soon enough he felt a smile returning to his muzzle.

"Well, rest assured, our council is ready to send more. As soon as my report is delivered back to Sky Haven I'm sure another shipment will be arranged."

The healer's eyes brightened even more, a smile of his own growing. "I can't thank you enough for this. I'm no Guardian, but I can say without a doubt that Warfang is in your debt."

Kaver could think of no words to respond with this time, but thankfully the ice dragon chose that moment to focus back upon the supplies.

"Could you bring the bags over here, please? We'll need to take inventory before we can redistribute the supplies among the other healing sites."

"Of course," Kaver replied, taking hold of the straps of his bags with a forepaw and nodding his head to the other wind dragons.

At the healer's direction the wind dragons carried their bags over to one of the back corners of the structure, near where the moles were working with the fabrics for bandages. They set their load down in a pile, and a pair of moles quickly hurried over to begin sorting the contents. Red gems, green gems, bandage wrapping, ointments and vials of more potent medicines were swiftly arranged onto the workbench surface while another mole with a scrap of parchment and a quill was dutifully taking stock of each item.

"We really can't thank you enough for this," the ice dragon reiterated, facing Kaver with another weary but grateful smile. "These supplies will be put to good use."

"I'm glad," Kaver answered. His eyes turned to his travelling companions, taking note of their drooping postures, and his expression creased with concern. "I hate to impose when you're all clearly so busy, but it's been a long journey for us. Is there somewhere that my colleagues would be able to rest?"

"We can arrange that," Boreas spoke up, stepping closer. "We're not in the best shape to accommodate guests at the moment, but we'll find something."

Kaver let out a quiet sigh of relief. "Thank you."

Boreas nodded. "Please follow me."

He motioned with his wing toward the exit and Kaver didn't hesitate to comply, falling into step behind the captain once more. His fellow travellers followed suite, and soon they were once more standing in the dim early morning light. Boreas beckoned to a nearby guard with his wing, and after being briefed on the situation the guard set off to find a suitable shelter for the new arrivals, the wind dragons in tow. Only Kaver remained behind, lingering next to the grey-scaled captain.

"Would it be possible to speak with the Guardians now?" he asked. "I would like to be fully appraised on the state of the city to begin making my report to the council."

"Yes, of course," Boreas replied with another nod. "Right in here, councillor."

He turned toward the second large building, the one the purple dragon had entered before, and without another word he padded over to the entrance and ducked inside. Kaver did the same a second later, entering with unsure steps as he wondered what he would find inside.

He hadn't been expecting the guards. Immediately upon entering the building he found himself flanked by two moles in full metal armour, standing on either side of the doorway with hands firmly clasping the pommels of their swords, ready to draw their weapons at an instant's notice. Their small, squinting eyes scrutinized Kaver in almost obsessive detail, searching for the tiniest hint of a threat, and the wind dragon shrunk under their gaze despite their much smaller stature than himself.

Four more guards were stationed within the building, these ones dragons. Also decked in full plate armour, two of them stood a few steps further into the building by opposite walls, just ahead of the large open chamber's current residents. The other two stood in the back corners, making sure there wasn't an inch of the building's interior that was left unmonitored. Their eyes were likewise fixed upon the newcomer, though they did look away long enough to salute their captain. Kaver was startled by the intensity of this security, but then he recalled the descriptions of the wraiths that he had heard back in Sky Haven and he quickly understood.

The heavy guard presence was even more understandable as soon as Kaver took in the room's other occupants. Spaced apart within the open space were four thin, padded cots, spacious lanes left open between them for the four healers currently present to work unimpeded. The patients lying atop these cots were without a doubt worthy of such close protection, and the mere sight of them—and in particular the state they were in—was enough to take Kaver's breath away.

First there was the Electricity Guardian, Volteer. Kaver suspected that when standing and in good health this dragon would be of impressive stature, perhaps a half head taller than Kaver himself and slightly more heavily built. Now, though, his appearance was anything but impressive. His body was littered with wounds, some covered by strips of bandages while others were merely coated in herbal salves similar to those Boreas sported. He was unconscious, his body splayed out ungracefully atop his cot and utterly limp. He almost looked dead, save for the slow, shallow rise and fall of his flanks.

Next came the Fire Guardian, and Kaver felt his stomach churn at the sight of him. Though smaller than his colleagues, this younger dragon was still of strong build. However, this physique was completely marred by the countless cuts and punctures afflicting him, most notably the long, deep slashes that covered his entire flank. They were coloured an angry red, badly inflamed, and the flesh around the cuts almost looked dead, with discoloured skin and broken, corroded scales. One of the healers, a dragon, was currently tending to him, appearing to do everything in her power to prevent further infection. She was carefully washing the wounds with a cloth and a small bucket of water, applying herbal disinfecting agents afterward. Like the Electricity Guardian, the red dragon appeared to be unconscious. Whether this was out of shock from his injuries or whether the healers had sedated him was unclear, but Kaver had no doubt that it was preferable to the fire dragon this way.

Thirdly, Kaver looked to the Ice Guardian, Cyril. Unlike the other two he was awake and alert, though he was just as covered in bandages and injuries as his yellow colleague. Captain Boreas had moved over to him since entering the building and now they were speaking in quiet tones that Kaver couldn't quite overhear, likely discussing the state of affairs within the city. Cyril's face was set in a grim scowl, and there were evident bags under his eyes from lack of rest, stress showing through in his body's stiff posture. It would seem that being the only Guardian fit enough to manage his duties was taking a significant toll on him already in this ongoing crisis. Kaver felt a sympathetic twinge in his chest, not eager to imagine being in his position.

That left the fourth cot, the only one not reserved for a Guardian, but there was no doubt that the dragon occupying it was of just as much importance as the other three patients.

There was a fleeting sense of relief when Kaver saw one more familiar face, but that feeling was very quickly erased when he took in Spyro's condition. The young purple dragon was lying on his side, eyes closed, and it was difficult to tell if he was asleep or completely unconscious like the two Guardians were. Much of his body was covered in bandage wrapping, and Kaver cringed internally when he saw how much of it was stained red with drained blood. A mole healer was currently working on these wrappings, removing the old ones and checking the state of Spyro's wounds before applying fresh bandages on top of them. As Kaver watched, the mole unwound one of the bandages from the smaller dragon's chest, revealing three large slash marks from a dragon's talons.

Spyro didn't stir as the mole worked, reinforcing the suspicion that he was truly knocked out, and Kaver felt a rising swell of worry and sympathy for him. It was _wrong_ to see a dragon so young in such a state. He didn't know Spyro well, having only had contact with him for a couple of days, but he could remember the bright, enthusiastic personality the youth had displayed during that time. He didn't deserve to be struck down by this kind of pain.

Kaver's gaze drifted away from the injured purple dragon, and that was when he noticed the final residents of the room. Against the right wall of the building, near Volteer, a lone cheetah sat in a wooden chair with a burgundy cloak draped over his shoulders and a bow and quiver resting against the side of his seat. His tunic was open, revealing several strips of bandages wrapped around his midsection while his left arm was secured across his chest in a sling. He was watching Kaver with a neutral, inquisitive expression, but Kaver could see the guarded edge beneath. The councillor wondered who this cheetah was to be here in the Guardians' company.

Turning to the other side of the room, near Spyro, Kaver's eyes found the mysterious purple dragon from before. He was still watching Kaver with the same masked, inscrutable expression as previously, and still the sharp gaze of his red-tinged irises set the larger dragon on edge. He was lying down close to Spyro's cot, almost defensive in his placement, and Kaver wondered what the connection between the two of them might have been—beyond their scale colour, of course.

Finally, he looked toward perhaps the oddest occupants of the room: three dragonflies which were hovering around Spyro with clearly anxious expressions. They were speaking quietly to each other and to the healer that was treating the young dragon, though every now and then they would glance up at Kaver curiously. Again, Kaver wondered what the connection between all of them could be.

_Such an unusual gathering of individuals_, he thought to himself.

"Councillor."

His had snapped up at Boreas' call, and he found that both the captain and Cyril were now looking toward him. Bringing his mind back to more immediate matters, he softly padded over to join them, bowing his head respectfully as he approached.

"Master Cyril," he said. "It is an honour to make your acquaintance." He paused, his mood sobering. "...My condolences for Master Terrador."

Cyril's expression also tightened, becoming masked and tense before he gave a small nod.

"Yes...his loss has been quite a shock." He was silent for another moment before roughly shaking his head. "I'm glad to make your acquaintance as well, though, Councillor Kaver."

He inclined his head in return to Kaver's greeting. Though his tone was formal, his voice had a faint rasp to it that betrayed his exhausted state.

"Boreas informs me that we in Warfang are indebted to you and your city. Medical supplies are something that we have been in terrible need of since the attack. This kindness is beyond appreciated."

Kaver waved a paw in protest. "It's no problem, really. It would be wrong if we didn't share our resources in a time when they're so badly needed."

Cyril offered a thin smile. "Be that as it may, this is still a debt that Warfang will remember. It is a relief to hear of Sky Haven's willingness to help, though. The thing Warfang needs most at a time like this is friends."

"Well, we'll do what we can. We are a small city, so aside from spirit gems there may not be much more that we can offer. That's why I intend to stay here in the city, however: to see if there is more help that we can bring down the line."

Cyril appeared surprised at this news. "Is that so? Well, that is quite generous."

Kaver waved his paw again. "I like to think that if the roles were reversed, Warfang would do the same for us. Regardless, I'll need more information to send back to the council when my colleagues set out on their return journey. I hate to be a burden when you clearly have too much on your plate already, but do you think you would have an opportunity soon to fill me in on the full situation here? I..."

The wind dragon trailed off mid sentence, and despite fighting it as hard as he could a yawn still broke through his resistance. He was quick to cover it with his wing, but it was still impossible for the other dragons to miss.

"A more in-depth discussion would best wait until you've had some time to rest," the Ice Guardian said. "You must be weary from your journey."

Kaver stubbornly shook his head. "That won't be necessary. I assure..."

A second yawn interrupted him, and inwardly the wind dragon cursed as the weight of his fatigue grew more and more difficult to resist.

"I insist, councillor," Cyril pressed. "Once you've had some sleep I will be more than willing to answer any questions you have. I won't be going anywhere."

Kaver wasn't sure whether that remark was meant in jest or in bitterness. Either way, he couldn't argue with the Guardians' logic and with a sigh he relented.

"Good," Cyril nodded. "Boreas, would you be able to locate some accommodations for our guest? Councillor, how long do you think you'll need to stay?"

"Well, I'm not certain," Kaver replied with a small shake of his head. "As long as needed."

"Very well. Captain, I'm aware that space is limited, but Kaver will need something comfortable enough for an extended stay if possible. Make sure everything he needs is provided to him."

"Right away, Master Cyril," Boreas replied with a quick salute. Cyril nodded again in satisfaction and turned to face Kaver once more.

"You'll be well looked after, Councillor. Once a chance to talk further presents itself I will send a runner to guide you back here and we can speak in detail then. Until that time, rest well."

Kaver still felt a part of himself that wanted to protest, his desire for answers gnawing at him relentlessly, but there was nothing for it. Instead he simply bowed his head toward the Guardian one more time.

"Thank you, Master Cyril. I appreciate this hospitality, and I hope it's not too much of an inconvenience in a time like this."

"Not at all. Now, off with you both."

Boreas gave another salute before he faced Kaver, gesturing toward the door. "Follow me, councillor. I'm sure we can find something suitable."

Kaver stepped to the side to allow Boreas to pass, following after him once he'd done so. He glanced back toward the Ice Guardian as he walked, finding that Cyril had already turned his attention to one of the healers to discuss the state of his colleagues.

The wind dragon frowned, observing the Guardians' ravaged conditions again and wondering just how this city was supposed to pick itself back up from the ashes when its leaders were in shambles. When he and Boreas were back outside and the sights and sounds of devastation surrounded him once more, Kaver felt his frown deepen even further. This truly was a mess, and so many people were suffering because of it...

He sighed, the pit of worry within his gut growing heavier. Warfang had a long road of recovery ahead of it.

He only hoped that it would have the time it needed.


	2. Chapter 2: A Helping Hand

_Chapter 2: A Helping Hand_

_Noise. Chaos. Everything was a throng of frantic activity, voices clashing in a never ending din. The scent that filled the air was an all too familiar mixture of blood and fear. Hysterical voices blended together with moans and cries of pain, while the too-few voices of healers and emergency workers fought to be heard above it all._

_"Keep the pressure on that. Do we have any more bandages?"_

_"She's fallen unconscious! Must be from the shock."_

_"Please, let me up! My mate is still missing! I need to—AAGH!"_

_"We need more water to clean these wounds!"_

_"Mama! Mama, it hurts!"_

_"You're going to be fine, alright? Keep looking right here. This will hurt, but it will be over quickly. Just keep looking at me."_

_"Where's the pulse? I've lost his pulse!"_

_"Is that fire going yet? Guard, give me your sword. We need to cauterize this wound before she loses any more blood."_

_In the centre of it all a crowd was huddled around a single sheet of cloth laid on top of the dusty ground. Between the busily working healers and the anxious observers, occasional flashes of blood-soaked purple scales could be seen._

_"Still no effect from the red gems? Try breaking one."_

_"No, nothing. I have another puncture that just opened up on his side, too."_

_"This cut is still getting deeper too. I need another bandage!"_

_"Here! That's our last one, though."_

_"Damn. We have to slow this bleeding down. Are those herbs ready yet?"_

_"Not yet. Almost."_

_"Well hurry! Master Spyro, can you still hear me? You need to be strong for us. Just keep fighting for a little while longer and we'll get you through this. Can you do that for me? Master Spyro? No, no, don't close your eyes just yet! Rest later. Right now I just need you to keep your eyes on me and we'll fight through this together. Focus right here, got it? Good. That's it! We're almost done. Just fight for a little bit longer..."_

"Miss Cynder?"

The unexpected call intruded into the black dragoness's far-off thoughts, and a jolt of surprise shot through her body. Her gaze snapped around to face the mole that was walking just to her left, small black eyes peering back up at her with a mixed expression of inquisitiveness and concern. Realizing that she had been letting her mind wander, Cynder shook her head and pulled a forepaw across her weary eyes.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to lose focus."

"Is everything alright?" the mole asked her. "You look anxious."

Cynder gave the mole another surprised glance before her eyes turned distant once more. The image of purple scales and blood flashed in her mind again, and she winced almost imperceptibly.

"I'm fine," she said at length. "Just...worried about Spyro."

The mole hummed in understanding. "Of course. Well, I wouldn't worry too much about him. He's a strong dragon. The last I heard, his condition is still improving."

Cynder nodded her head in agreement. "Yeah, one of the healers treating him said that red gems were finally starting to take effect last night. It was barely anything, but it's progress."

"That is good news!" the mole replied with a smile. "So the Reversal wasn't a severe one after all. That's certainly a relief."

Another nod was Cynder's response, sharing the mole's smile for a brief moment, but when she turned her eyes forward once more her features became pensive. 'Severe' certainly seemed like an apt way to describe the injuries that had spontaneously erupted all over his body—if not for the rapid response of the healers, he might have bled out in minutes—but as far as long-term effects went she knew it could have been much worse.

Her mind travelled back to the Infirmary waiting room after the grublin attack on Warfang, where she'd heard how grim the outcome of a Reversed Recovery could be. If red gems were working on Spyro now, she could at least take some solace in it as a sign that he wouldn't be stricken by some of the more crippling side-effects of the condition.

_But what caused a Reversal in the first place?_ she wondered for the hundredth time since hearing the diagnosis. _He wasn't using any spirit gems at the time, so why...?_

She sighed and shook her head, knowing it was pointless to wonder over the same questions over and over. Instead she focused her attention on her surroundings.

Currently she was accompanying a small group of workers that was making rounds through the chaotic city streets. Mole crews had only just finished removing the dark gems from this area late during the previous night, and now dragons were free to move about in this portion of the city once more. Recovery and reconstruction work would accelerate significantly now that the dragons were able to bring their magical gifts to bear, and Cynder's party was one such group intent on doing just that.

With her was the mole that had spoken just now, a healer, along with two other dragon volunteers, one earth and one fire. All three had satchels slung over their shoulders, full to the brim with emergency supplies. Their names were Oswald, Boulder and Char respectively. As they walked Boulder had an expression of intense concentration on his face, forepaws emitting a faint green glow into the cobblestone street with every step.

"Hold on," he suddenly spoke up in a deep, gravelly voice, his march coming to an instant halt. "I might have something..."

Cynder and the others drew to a stop beside him, all eyes turning toward the green dragon expectantly. They made certain not to move a single muscle, hoping to avoid confusing his senses with extra vibrations in the ground. As the seconds ticked past Cynder felt a sense of anxious anticipation swelling in her chest.

"Over there," Boulder declared a short moment later, pointing his snout toward a crumbled house on the right side of the street. "I feel a gap in the rubble. Something's buried inside."

"Something? Or someone?" Oswald asked.

"It's hard to tell. I don't feel any movement. From the size...it could be a dragon."

"I'll take a look," Cynder said immediately. Without waiting for confirmation she spun around and melted into the shadows.

She carefully moved toward the remains of the house, observing it from within the void and taking note of its condition. The building was in total ruins, not a single wall left standing, and as she approached she hardened her focus on her power. If she lost concentration for a mere second and part of her body re-solidified, it might disturb the rubble and bring it crashing down on top of herself, or worse on whoever could be trapped inside. Maintaining her shadow form was completely second-nature after all her years of practice, but the added pressure here meant she couldn't take any chances.

With great care she pushed on, creeping into the ruins and silently dreading what she might find within.

It took her a minute of searching before she found the opening the earth dragon had spoken of. The stone was replaced by a different form, and a mere second of scrutiny allowed Cynder to make out the shape of an adult dragon completely encircled by the debris.

A jolt of urgency raced through her body, and Cynder moved closer. There were virtually no open spaces between the dragon and the surrounding stone, leaving the victim no room to move even if they wanted to. That actually might have been a blessing in disguise, however, because as Cynder examined the debris her heart fell with the realization that this mess of crumbled stone offered no structural support whatsoever. Any shift in the debris at all—even the slightest increase in weight on one of the pieces—could cause the full weight of the collapsed building to come down on the dragon trapped within.

Forced to stay completely enshrouded within the shadows, Cynder turned her attention to examining the victim. The darkness obscured her senses, though, making it impossible to discern any identifying features or even tell what gender this dragon was, but she could at least see that they were lying on their stomach with their body twisted awkwardly by the surrounding rubble. Of greatest concern was the large slab of rock that was pinning the dragon down from above. It must have been part of the room's ceiling, and if that had come down with any force it could have led to severe injuries. Cynder cringed at the thought.

Was the dragon breathing? She couldn't hear anything, and with her senses dulled by the shadows she couldn't spot any signs of movement. The thought of poking her head out for a better examination was dismissed immediately. If her intrusion caused the debris to shift at all...

She couldn't take the risk. Cursing inwardly, she retreated back toward the street.

_Please be alive. Just hang on..._

Three pairs of expectant eyes greeted her when she emerged from the darkness. Immediately her own gaze locked onto the earth dragon.

"There is a dragon inside," she said to confirm his suspicion, "but I couldn't get a good look. The debris in there is so unstable, if I move around at all outside of the shadows I'm afraid it will crush them. Is there anything you can do?"

Boulder's features twisted into a frown.

"I can't move any of it. The shifting weight would definitely crush whoever's inside if it's that bad. Maybe..."

His words trailed off, and a low, frustrated growl rumbled from his throat as he wracked his brain for a solution. A minute later he looked up with a spark of inspiration in his eyes, however.

"I can bind the pieces of stone to each other without moving anything. It would basically turn the whole thing into a prison, but it would keep things from collapsing while you investigated at least."

"You're sure it would be stable?" Cynder asked.

Boulder nodded.

"That sounds like a good start to me," Oswald said. "Miss Cynder, do you agree?"

"It's better than nothing," she replied. "Just tell me when to go back in."

Boulder's expression tensed up in focus again. The green aura spread from his forepaws like before, and a second later a similar glow seeped out from within the broken house. Cynder could just barely make out a faint rumble as the pieces of stone were delicately remolded, welding themselves to the adjacent fragments until the loose mound of rubble had become an unmovable cocoon.

"Okay, that should hold," the earth dragon reported after another second.

There was no need for further prompting than that. With hardly a sound Cynder phased back into the shadows and retraced her path into the ruined home. Boulder had been wise enough not to seal the stones together completely, leaving plenty of gaps for Cynder to easily move through, and within seconds she was back with the buried dragon. There she hesitated for a second, glancing around at the rubble that now surrounded her on all sides.

_Here goes_, she thought, steadying her nerves. _Please don't collapse..._

Slowly and with tremendous care, she peeked the top of her head out of the shadows as though it were the surface of a pond. She held her breath, waiting to hear the sound of shifting stone, but it never came. What she did hear instead, however, was a soft groan from the dragon in front of her. Most likely the glow from the earth dragon's magic had roused their attention, and now they were showing signs of life.

"H...Hello?" the dragon coughed, and from their voice Cynder could identify them as female. "Is...s-someone th...there? H...Help."

The dragoness coughed again, and worry quickly pooled in Cynder's gut. She sounded very weak, her voice hoarse and ragged. After spending days trapped in here it was no wonder why, but that thought only spurred on Cynder's sense of urgency. This dragoness needed help, now. Without delay Cynder pushed more of her head out of the shadows, as far as she could manage in the cramped space to bring her mouth free.

"It's alright," she said as softly as she could manage. "I'm here to help you."

Despite Cynder's efforts, the dragoness still jolted in fright at the sudden voice from so close by. Her body immediately stiffened, a hiss of pain rushing out. She must be injured, and the movement had aggravated it. Cynder's jaw clenched from further concern.

"W-Who's th-there?"

"Please, stay calm," Cynder spoke as gently as she could. "Everything's going to be alright. We're going to get you out of here."

The dragoness didn't reply, and from the looks of it she was caught in a state of shock at this sudden development. Cynder took this moment to examine her more closely. There was barely any light that managed to pierce this far into the rubble, but it was still barely enough for Cynder to make out what looked like a cool blue shade to the dragoness's scales, marking her as an ice user. It was difficult to judge her condition in this gloom, especially with the stone debris obscuring everything but her face, forelegs and shoulders from view. Cynder did detect a faint scent beneath all the dust, and after a moment she realized it was blood. Thankfully it didn't smell like there was much of it, but it would still be best not to waste time.

"Who...who are y-you?" the dragoness managed to ask.

"My name is Cynder."

Despite the darkness, Cynder still saw the way the other dragoness's eyes widened, her body once more going stiff.

"C...Cynder?" she stammered, her voice falling to a near whisper. "Y...y-you mean..."

The black dragoness hesitated again. There was something about the victim's tone that felt off. It wasn't just surprise that was in her voice. Cynder's fear element hummed in the back of her mind, and with a slight start she realized that the other dragoness was scared.

_Oh,_ she realized, briefly crestfallen. _Something in the past..._

She shook the feeling off. Now wasn't the time for that familiar guilt.

"I'm here to help you," she said again, trying her best to sound soothing. "I promise, we'll get you out safely. First, can you tell me if you're hurt?"

The ice dragoness remained quiet, the only sound being her short, frightened breaths.

"Please, I need you to talk to me," Cynder implored. "I want to help, but I can't do anything until I know if it's safe to move you."

The other dragoness' mouth opened and closed. It took a couple of tries before she managed to get anything out, and even when she did her words were still faltering and unsteady.

"...I-I...My..."

"It's okay. You're going to be alright. Just breathe slowly, and try to keep calm. Just talk to me."

"M-my...My s-son..."

Cynder froze, caught unprepared for that word. Her son?

"What about your son?" she asked anxiously. "Is he here? Was he in the house with you?"

"Under...under my w-wing," the dragoness forced out, her voice becoming hoarse again. Her breathing was becoming faster and more erratic. "H-he...He s-stopped answering my c-calls. I d-don't know if he's okay. Please...my s...son..."

"Okay," Cynder nodded quickly. "I'll check on him. Please, just try to stay calm. I'll get you both out. I need you to hold still, alright?"

The dragoness gulped back another shaking breath and nodded her head, a low whimper being the only sound she uttered. Cynder's heart twisted, and without wasting a moment she melted back into the shadows and picked her way through the debris to the ice dragoness' side. Her right wing was pinned tight against her flank, leaving no room for anyone underneath, so Cynder shifted over to check her other side. Here the ice breather's wing was tented out slightly, forming a small sheltered space below it. Cynder moved closer, peeking her head out again.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was a hatchling, not even third Cynder's own size. He was curled up tightly in a ball, his tiny wings tucked in and his head pressed into his mother's scaly side. Past the dust that had settled over his scales Cynder could just barely make out his yellow colouring.

He wasn't moving.

_Oh, Ancestors, please don't say we're too late..._

"A-are you th-there?" the mother called out, her voice barely audible through the rubble, but Cynder could still easily hear the increasing franticness in it. "Is h-he alr-right?"

"Please, just stay calm," Cynder called back, grimacing as she fought to hide her own fears. "I'm going to take him outside to our healer. Just hold on. I'll be right back."

She heard another whimper as the dragoness' only reply, and from this close Cynder could see her side beginning to shudder. The black dragoness clenched her teeth, her gut churning sympathetically, but she forced those sensations down to focus on her task.

Moving with painstaking care, Cynder reached her paw out of the shadows and rested it on the hatchling's flank. He didn't stir. Cynder's stomach turned again, but she refused to waver. Focusing her power, she wrapped her shadows around the younger dragon and drew him into the darkness with her, straining with all her might to keep the shadows' grip as gentle as she could manage. As soon as the hatchling was fully engulfed in the darkness with her she rushed back through the ruins and out into the street. When she emerged the child came with her, flopping limply onto his side. The mole healer and the other two dragons jumped.

"A hatchling?" Char gasped.

"Move aside," Oswald instructed, already kneeling down in front of the young one.

Cynder complied without a word, stepping back and watching the mole with ever-increasing anxiety. The healer gently turned the young dragon over to expose his chest and rested a small furry hand on top of it, leaning his ear down toward the child's mouth and nostrils at the same time. For a few tense seconds he was still, his face grim, but a moment later his features relaxed and he let out a deep sigh.

"He's alive."

Cynder released the breath she'd been holding, silently thanking the Ancestors.

"Will he be alright?" Boulder asked, leaning his head over to peer down at the hatchling.

"It's hard to tell without further examination, but I think so. His breathing and pulse seem steady. I'll know better in a moment."

"The mother is still trapped inside," Cynder interjected. "She's conscious, but I think she might be injured. I couldn't figure out how badly."

Oswald met her gaze, letting out a thoughtful hum. "Bring her out if you can. If her condition is too severe we'll have to try to move this rock to unbury her instead."

"If it comes to that we'll need to send for more earth dragons to help," Boulder said grimly. "Even with the rocks fused together it will be difficult to move them off of her without their weight coming down on her in the process."

Oswald hummed again, his frown deepening. Looking up at Cynder again, he said, "Do what you can."

Cynder nodded, and with that she entered the remains of the house for the third time. As soon as the ice dragoness heard the faint whisper of Cynder's head emerging from the shadows their gazes locked.

"How is he?" she demanded, her voice weak but her tone desperate. "Is h-he alright?"

"The healer is checking on him now," Cynder replied. "He thinks your son will be okay."

The dragoness choked back a weak sob, her whole body trembling, and Cynder felt her heart twist in her chest again. She couldn't even imagine the flood of emotions that this mother must be feeling in that moment.

"I can bring you to him, but first I need to know if you have any serious injuries. Is anything broken, or is there any pain internally?"

It took a second for the dragoness to reply, gasping and trying to get her breathing back under control. "I-I...I'm n-not sure. My b...back hurts the m-most."

"How bad is it?" Cynder pressed. "Can you describe it at all?"

"I...I d-don't know! I-I..."

"Hey, okay," Cynder cut in, trying again to sound reassuring. "It's alright. Listen to me. Everything's going to be fine. I just need to know if you think it will hurt too much if I move you. If you can tell me that, I'll get you out of here before you know it."

"I..." the dragoness gasped. "I...I think I can m...manage it."

Cynder nodded, giving a small smile—though she knew the other dragoness probably couldn't see it. "Okay. Then what I need you to do is hold as still as you can and keep your eyes closed, alright? The sun is pretty bright out, so it might hurt them at first."

"O-okay."

The ice dragoness did as she was told, her eyes shutting and her body going still except for her rattling breaths. Just like with the hatchling, Cynder shifted closer and rested her forepaws against the adult's scales, willing the shadows to bend around her form. It took longer, requiring exponentially more focus to transport someone who was multiple times Cynder's own size, but finally she had drawn the ice user fully into the void. With as much haste as she could manage without losing concentration, Cynder returned to the outside world.

The ice dragoness gave a lurching gasp when they emerged into the open air, sounding pained, and Cynder flinched. She'd been practicing the technique of carrying others into her shadows ever since she first used it on Spyro—mostly on training dummies, and occasionally with Enigma—but she knew she still had a ways to go before she had it mastered. The strain of it must not have been pleasant on an injured dragoness' body, but nevertheless she was free. The dragoness' eyes were blinking rapidly, fighting to adjust to the outdoor brightness, but the instant her gaze landed on her son they snapped wide open.

"Eclarius!" she cried.

"He'll be alright, ma'am," Oswald told her quickly. "As far as I can tell he's just passed out from exhaustion. Don't worry, we'll take care of him."

The dragoness choked on another sob, appearing distressed at the sight of her son in such a state even with the healer's reassurance. She reached toward the small yellow dragon with a forepaw but it fell short, and with a grunt she tried to pull herself closer. A sharp cry of pain immediately burst free from her jaws in response.

"Whoa, easy miss," Char interjected. "Your back doesn't look so good. Maybe you shouldn't—"

He was cut off by another muffled cry, the dragoness gritting her fangs and pulling forward in spite of the pain. Cynder could only watch in a daze, her eyes darting between the dragoness' face and the ugly gash that ran across her back, right over her spine. It had to be from the slab of stone ceiling that had fallen on her, and it appeared to be causing significant pain now. Still, the ice dragoness refused to relent.

With her face twisted in a mix of determination and suffering, the distraught mother gave one last desperate heave to bring herself within reach of her child. Her forepaw quivered when she lifted it toward the small yellow hatchling again, but even so her touch was soft and delicate when she made contact. With great care she pulled her young one close to her chest, bringing her head down to nuzzle against him and hold him tight. A trickle of tears leaked from her eyes, and her breathing hitched from another sob as she finally let the stress and fear of the past several days pour out.

Cynder remained silent as she watched from the side, the other two dragons doing likewise. She couldn't imagine the kind of fear that this family must have endured, trapped with no idea if they were ever going to get out. With her shadow powers she never had to worry about that kind of scenario, but without it...She was just happy that they were safe. After another couple of minutes the dragoness began to calm down.

"Pass me some water, please," Oswald requested, reaching out a hand toward Char.

The fire dragon complied wordlessly, reaching a forepaw into his satchel and withdrawing a water skin. It was on the small size for a dragon, but rather large for the mole and he grunted as it was handed to him. After pulling the cork free he held it toward the ice dragoness.

"Here," he said, giving a soft smile. "Take as much as you need."

The dragoness' eyes had locked onto the water skin with unmistakeable thirst as soon as Char had produced it. With merely a nod she reached out a forepaw and took it, tipping it back into her mouth without pause. After several long gulps she finally stopped for air, letting out a relieved gasp as the water soothed her parched throat. Her voice was noticeably less hoarse when she spoke again.

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome," the mole replied, smiling again. "And now for your young one. Can you do me a favour and hold is head back?"

The dragoness nodded again, carefully lifting her child's head up and tilting it backward so that the little dragon's mouth fell open. Oswald took the water skin and cautiously dripped the water into the hatchling's mouth, waiting for him to swallow reflexively and taking great care not to allow it to slip down his windpipe. The process was slow and meticulous, taking several minutes for what would have only amounted to a sip for Cynder, but Oswald was patient in his work. Finally he corked the water skin again and handed it back to Char.

"There we go."

"Was that enough?" the dragoness asked anxiously.

"We'll have more for him once he wakes up. For now, it's best we just wait and let him rest."

The ice dragoness frowned, her worried gaze settling upon her son's face, but she resigned herself to the healer's council.

"Now, if you'll just give me a moment to check on your back then we can get you two moved to a more comfortable setting to recover."

He began walking around toward the dragoness' side, and her posture stiffened marginally as she watched him. Boulder stepped forward, using his power to create a set of stone steps that Oswald gratefully used to reach a height where he could properly view the wound. Once there he began his examination, gently prodding at the area around the gash with his fingers. When he pressed on the dragoness' spine just above where the cut was she let out a sharp groan of pain and her whole body seized up.

"Sorry," the mole quickly apologized. "How much does it hurt when I do that?"

The dragoness sucked in a breath through her teeth to compose herself before she could answer. "A lot. It's not as bad when you leave it alone, but moving it or pushing on it is really painful."

"Hmm. Are you able to feel your extremities? Try moving your feet and tail for me."

The dragoness nodded, her features tensing. A second later the toes on her hind paws curled and the end of her tail swung back and forth. Oswald nodded approvingly.

"That's good. Your back most likely isn't broken then. Possibly only a fracture, but nothing time and maybe a small gem shard won't take care of."

His expression clouded when he turned his attention to the cut itself, though, and Cynder felt a twinge of unease when she saw this. Looking toward the injury she tried to discern what about it was so concerning but she had trouble judging it properly because of all of the dust from the collapse that covered it.

That was when she realized that this was exactly the problem. With that much dirt sitting in an open wound for days on end...

Oswald reached out his hand again, and Char passed over the water skin that he was still holding. With delicate care, the mold began rinsing the dust away from the gash. The dragoness winced, even though Oswald appeared to be trying his best to avoid hurting her wherever it was avoidable. Sure enough, once the water began to wash the dirt and grime away Cynder could see that the flesh around the gash was a bright, inflamed red.

"Cynder," Oswald spoke up, "I'll need your help with this."

The black dragoness nodded, stepping over toward the ice breather's other side. She paused when she noticed the way the adult's body tensed again, however, turning to look into the dragoness' eyes and seeing the same conflicted, fearful look as before there. Cynder offered as disarming a smile as she could manage, hoping to ease whatever worries the ice dragoness was harbouring, but she wasn't sure if it worked. The other dragoness didn't relax, but she also made no protest when Cynder resumed her approach.

A moment later Cynder was standing with her forepaws braced against the ice dragoness' side, bringing her head up high enough to see the wound clearly. Oswald nodded when she met his eyes, gesturing toward the wound. He didn't need to speak for Cynder to know what he expected. This wasn't the first time they had encountered a situation like this while working together.

"Alright," she said, glancing down toward their patient again. "This will probably sting a little bit at first, but try to relax as much as you can."

More unease sparked in the dragoness' eyes, but Cynder didn't allow herself to dwell on it. Stretching her forepaw up to the adult's back, she coated it in a thin film of her poison element and gently pressed it down over the wound. She felt the dragoness flinch again but she refused to be distracted, focusing on the desired effects she wanted her venom to have: sterilize the wound, and numb the pain. By this point she'd had plenty of practice with both applications, and within moments the dragoness began to relax as her pain gradually dulled. When Cynder retracted her paw there was a thin coating of viscous green fluid left behind, covering the wound and preventing any more dirt from getting in. It looked like the inflammation had already faded by the slightest bit.

"Perfect, thank you," Oswald said with a quick smile. "You know, for so-called 'dark' elements, they sure come in handy for rescue work."

Cynder smiled back, a brief feeling of pride swelling in her chest. Meanwhile Oswald turned his attention back to the ice dragoness.

"Is that feeling any better?"

"Uh...yes. It doesn't hurt as much anymore."

"Good. Then we should be in good shape to move you out of here. Boulder?"

The earth dragon stepped forward again. Once Cynder and Oswald had backed away he concentrated his power and caused a platform of stone to rise up underneath the dragoness and her son. Two stone wheels materialized, one on either side, along with a pair of handles and a simple stone harness that could rest over a dragon's back. Just like that, a makeshift cart had been fashioned and was ready to depart.

"Could you please deliver these two over to the healing camp in the Gardens?" Oswald asked, lookup up at Char.

"Right away," the fire dragon replied.

Passing his satchel over to Boulder, who looped it over his free shoulder, Char slid underneath the cart's harness and stood. The weight seemed to be negligible, Boulder having done a good job balancing it over the axle, and two notches had been carved into either side of the harness which made for convenient grips for Char's wings, allowing him to brace the harness securely against his back. In short order he was ready to depart with his passengers.

"Alright, miss," he said. "Hang on to your little one. I'll do my best to get you through the streets smoothly, but they're pretty beat up right now. It might get bumpy in some places."

The dragoness nodded, wrapping her forelegs around the small lightning dragon and holding him close to her chest. Once satisfied, Char began to ease the cart forward. Just at that moment, though, the dragoness' eyes widened.

"Wait!"

Char faltered at the sudden exclamation, looking back at the dragoness in confusion. Cynder, Oswald and Boulder were similarly puzzled, everyone looking to their patient.

The ice dragoness looked embarrassed by the attention, but when she turned her eyes toward Cynder her expression changed. The conflicted look was back, along with uncertainty, but this time there was more behind it. For a long moment there was silence, the dragoness grappling with her thoughts, and Cynder waited in uneasy anticipation.

The ice dragoness closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep, slow breath.

"Thank you," she said softly, and Cynder faltered again in surprise. When the dragoness met her gaze again, her eyes showed gratitude and relief. "Thank you for saving me, and for saving my son."

For a second Cynder couldn't bring herself to reply, caught off guard, but a smile quickly formed on her muzzle after that. She bowed her head in acknowledgement, and after awkwardly returning the gesture the ice dragoness turned her attention forward once more. Char took this as his cue to move out, flashing a quick smile toward Cynder before setting off down the street. The stone wheels of the cart rattled and ground as they turned, but they served their purpose and soon Char and his passengers were underway without much difficulty, disappearing around a bend in the road soon afterward. Oswald turned a smile toward the black dragoness, patting her shoulder.

"Nice work," he declared. "Good job everyone. Two more to add to the tally."

Cynder and Boulder both took a moment to bask in their accomplishment before their demeanours became business-like once more.

"I can't sense anyone else in the area," Bolder told them, closing his eyes and focusing his power into the earth again. "I think we're good to move on."

"Very good. Let's get going then. We still have a lot of ground to cover."

Cynder nodded in agreement, and together the party of three set off down the street, the green glow manifesting around Boulder's forepaws once more.

***.*.***

It had been a long day. Overhead the sky was shifting from its bright, crisp blue to a warmer, fiery orange as the sun began its descent. Temperatures had already begun to drop now that the sun's light could no longer reach the city streets, which had been a congested hive of activity all day but now were finally beginning to quiet. Workers were retiring for the evening, and the Guards' night patrols were setting out for their rounds. That familiar, pervasive silence was beginning to fall over Warfang, one that had become common in the days following the attack, carrying relief from a hard day's work but also unease over what the growing darkness may conceal.

At the outskirts of the principal field hospital grounds in the western market square two weary figures could be seen trudging back toward the stone shelters. Oswald turned to look up at Cynder as he worked his stout legs to keep up with the dragoness's longer strides.

"Well, that was another busy day," he remarked as their destination approached. He pulled at the strap of his satchel, rolling his shoulder and wincing. "I really hope I'm not too sore tomorrow."

Cynder suppressed a chuckle, doing her best to hide her own aches and pains. "Will we be making more rounds in the morning? We didn't get to all of the streets that the gem crews had cleared."

Oswald shook his head. "No, the other rescue crews covered them. It will likely be another day or two before we can move into the next block."

"Oh...So, what are you going to be doing tomorrow, then?"

The mole paused when he had to squeeze over to the side of the path to allow a pair of coyotes to pass, one walking with the assistance of a crutch while his other arm was braced over the shoulders of his companion. "There's been a request for more help at the eastern relief centre. I'll probably be taking a shift there. What about you? Thinking of taking a break?"

"A break?" Cynder repeated with a tone of faint surprise. "No, I don't think so. If the search and rescue is on hold then I guess I'll see if I can help out some more around here."

She trailed off, and her eyes turned out toward Warfang's buildings while a knot formed in her stomach. Oswald seemed to notice her troubled look.

"Hey," he said, catching her attention once more. "I know you're worried about the people that could still be out there, but if I can give some advice: Don't dwell on it. I'm worried too, but there isn't anything more that either of us can do for them right now. If you keep worrying about it, it will drive you crazy. Focus on the lives you did save today."

The black dragoness considered these words for a silent moment before giving a small nod of her head, a half-hearted smile appearing at the corner of her muzzle. "I know. Thanks. It's just hard not to think about it when I feel like I could still be doing more." She let out a faint chuckle. "Guess that's something that rubbed off on me from Spyro."

Oswald shared in her amusement before his eyes turned quizzical. "You've already been doing more than anyone could have asked of you, though. I mean, all your help with the wounded here, plus the hunting parties, and now with the search and rescue teams? Trust me, the effort you've been putting in has been noticed, and it's deeply appreciated, but the last thing anyone wants is for you to run yourself into the ground."

Cynder regarded the mole with an unconvinced look of her own. His statement was touching, but the idea of slowing down didn't settle with her. Again, Oswald took notice.

"Cynder, I mean it," he told her, his voice kind but firm. "The other healers and I are immensely grateful for the help you've been giving, and your talents have been invaluable, _but_ you do need to look after yourself too. If you wear yourself out too much, or Ancestors forbid even hurt yourself, you won't be any good to anyone. Take another bit of advice and slow down for a bit to recharge. There will still be plenty to do the next day."

The dragoness said nothing. Once again she was touched by the concern and kindness that Oswald was displaying, but there was still a nagging voice inside her head that sang a different tune.

Almost everywhere she looked, she saw suffering. The city's workers and volunteers were doing everything in their power to preserve morale, focusing on their tasks and rebuilding what they could, but underneath it all there were innumerable, unshakeable scars afflicting people's bodies and spirits alike. Everyone was hurting after the attack.

But when she looked at herself? Nothing. Not a single mark or blemish remained on her scales to testify to the battle that they had all endured. Tyrannica had brought a nightmare crashing down on the city, but Cynder had escaped it completely unharmed. Spyro had made certain of that.

Now he was lying comatose in a healer's shelter, alive thanks only to his sheer determination and the tireless efforts of Warfang's surviving healers. Her friends were all battered and shaken, broken physically and dealing with the trauma of everything they had seen. The Guardians were too hurt to perform their duties. Terrador...

She winced, the image of the Earth Guardian's body flashing within her mind.

In the past she had been the one sowing a very similar kind of suffering upon the lands, while the people of Warfang and the Dragon Realms were the ones putting their lives on the line to protect everything they cared for. Now, in the wake of this latest catastrophe here she was, untouched and unharmed, while so many people that deserved better hadn't made it out of that nightmare at all.

_It isn't right, _she thought darkly. _I can't stop._

"Cynder?"

The dragoness jumped when she realized that she'd become lost in her thoughts again, and she quickly turned her gaze back to Oswald. The healer was watching her with a questioning look about him. She gave a sheepish smile.

"I appreciate the concern, Oswald, and I get what you're saying, but I'm fine. Really."

The mole didn't appear convinced, holding his scrutinizing stare for a few more seconds before giving up with a sigh. A minute later the pair had reached an intersection in the field hospital's walkways and there they said their farewells. Cynder waved with her wing as he departed, and only after he'd disappeared around another corner did she resume her own route toward the Guardians' hut.

_It'll be fine,_ she told herself. _I'm not too tired. I can still help._

The thought of her friends passed through her mind again, and the black dragoness let out a tense sigh as concern for them wormed through her, but then a new idea took root. She glanced up at the darkening sky. It wasn't _too_ late yet. Maybe visiting hours hadn't quite been cut off.

She turned right at the next intersection in the narrow walkways rather than continuing straight on, a new destination in mind. After a couple more turns her goal came into view, the small stone hut appearing completely indistinct from all the rest but familiar all the same. As she approached she could just make out voices from inside.

"...no strenuous activity for at least two more weeks," a female voice was saying, her tone carrying a note of authority—a mole, from what Cynder could gather. "The ribs have set, but they need more time to strengthen. That means no running, no fighting or training, and no flying either. The more bed rest he gets, the better."

Cynder heard a familiar, dramatic groan sound out just as she reached the hut's doorway, and she had to stifle a small chuckle at the owner's expense. Peering inside she was greeted by a small room with two makeshift cots, one fashioned from a couple of thin tattered cushions and the other no more than a bundled-up blanket. Two young male dragons were resting upon them, while a mole healer was conversing with an adult dragoness. Chinook and Flash she had been expecting to see, but Gale's presence was a bit of a surprise.

"I understand," the wind dragoness said in reply to the mole's instructions, nodding her head. "We'll make sure he keeps out of trouble. He already knew that he was going to be grounded for the next few weeks anyway."

The last sentence was spoken while directing a stern look toward the smaller grey dragon, and Chinook uttered another miserable groan.

"Mom, that's not fair," he protested. "You _let_ me and Flash go out to help fight. Master Terr—"

He winced and cut himself off. Beyond the doorway Cynder likewise cringed at the mention of the Earth Guardian's name. Gale's glare wavered for a split second, but only that.

"I let you go out to try and help your friends," she said sharply. "I was _hoping_ that if and when you found them you would all have the sense to stay close to the adult soldiers where they could watch over you. Ideally, I hoped you would start trying to work your way back to the shelters. I did _not_ let you go so you could fly off to pick a fight head-on with _Tyrannica_! Both of you are lucky that a few weeks of recovery is the worst that happened to you!"

Chinook scowled and looked away, looking thoroughly defeated and abashed. Flash did likewise from the other cot. Despite the grave atmosphere that had descended over the group their expressions were still enough to elicit another chuckle from Cynder, one she fought to suppress with only partial success. The sound drew a glance from Chinook, and surprise darted across his features when he spotted her head poking past the edge of the doorway.

"Cynder?"

The room's other occupants turned similarly surprised looks her way, and when she realized she was caught Cynder waved a wing with a sheepish smile.

"Sorry to barge in," she said. "I was just heading back to the Guardians' room and figured I'd stop by to check on how these guys were doing."

"Oh, that's alright," Gale recovered quickly, adopting her own slightly embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry you had to listen to that."

Cynder flicked her wing dismissively, and Gale relaxed. The wind dragoness turned her attention back to the two males.

"Okay, well I'll wait outside while you two have your visit. I want you ready to go after that, though. We're going straight home and you're going to be _staying_ there until I say otherwise."

"Yes, Mom..."

"Yes, Gale..."

The wind dragoness bobbed her head in satisfaction, and with that she rose and made for the hut's doorway. The mole healer moved alongside her, resuming her instructions from before.

"Now, Coronus will need to leave his stitches in for probably the next week while his wing membrane finishes re-growing, and during that time you'll need to wash them twice daily with clean water. You won't be able to let him fly for at least another twenty days after that, though, or the tear will just re-open..."

Her voice faded as the pair vanished through the doorway, and Cynder turned her focus back to her friends. Chinook was gingerly pushing himself up into a sitting position, his gaze locked firmly on his paws, while Flash was content to stay lying down for the moment. He greeted Cynder with a smile once they were alone.

"So?" the dragoness spoke up, giving her own smile. "It sounds like you're getting out of here, huh? I'm glad to hear it."

"Yeah, the healers think they've done all they really can for us at this point," Flash responded. "Just have to let time work now."

"It's too bad they don't have any more spirit gems to give us," Chinook commented, wincing slightly as he finished sitting up and his weight shifted. "I mean, I've broken bones before, but who knew it took _this long_ for them to heal all on their own? It's ridiculous!"

"I hear the moles have it worse," Flash said. "Even without gems, they say dragons heal pretty quickly compared to them."

"You serious? Man, that sucks."

"Well, either way, I'm happy that you guys are doing well enough to release," Cynder cut in. "It must feel good to finally get out of this place."

Chinook chuckled half-heartedly. "Well, we're basically just going from one prison to another, so..."

Cynder smirked. "Come on. It won't be that bad. At least you've got your own beds to go back to, right? That has to be better than this place."

Another dry laugh came in response but it was cut off with a wince, Chinook reaching up to his bandaged flank. Cynder could still see the bruised scales showing underneath the wrappings, blotchy and discoloured, though it was a lot better than it had been after the battle. Meanwhile Flash had begun trying to rise into a seated position as well, but he faltered with a gasp when the pressure on his forelegs made the long gash over his shoulders flare in protest. Cynder stole a glance at his injury, her features tightening at the sight of his wing in particular. Thread could be seen stitched along the tear, holding the flaps of membrane together, and the half-healed seam between them formed a knotted and wrinkled blemish in the otherwise shimmering, iridescent colours flowing across the rest of his wings.

Flash recovered from his bout of pain a moment later, carefully rising up to full sitting height, and it was at that moment that he noticed Cynder's stare. His own expression soured.

"Come on, guys. Stop looking at me like that. It's not that bad."

Cynder blinked and shook her head roughly, her face flushing as she internally berated herself for staring. When she looked toward Chinook she saw that he had also turned away, his posture stiff and his bearing now feeling oddly deflated.

"Sorry," Cynder told the light dragon. "It's just good to see you up and moving again. I know I said it before, you but had us all worried for a while."

Flash nodded in understanding. "Yeah, well, I'll have to make sure to thank Spyro when I can. The healers said that him slowing the bleeding down helped me out a lot."

Chinook perked up at the purple dragon's name, fixing Cynder with a questioning gaze. "How is he doing?"

Cynder hesitated, her mind flashing back once more to the image of her purple-scaled companion lying motionlessly on top of that thin mat in the Guardians' hut, but she shook it off after a second.

"Better," she answered simply.

The wind dragon gave a heavy sigh of relief. "Oh, good."

"Yeah, speaking of having people worried," Flash commented with a humourless snort. "I never got a look at him before the healers separated us all, but the things Enigma told us after her last visit were...ugly."

That caught Cynder's attention. "Enigma visited? I haven't actually seen her since the battle."

Flash nodded. "Yeah, she stopped by a couple of times. She's doing pretty well. She still had her wing wrapped up when she was here the other day, but she said the healers were expecting her to make a full recovery."

Cynder let out a quiet breath, some of the tension that had gathered in her shoulders slackening. "Good. Last time Elder Tythos was over visiting Sirius he said that Faren was doing well too."

The two males' expressions brightened a touch more at that news.

"That's a relief," Chinook said. "So, it's sounding like the gang made it out of things in mostly one piece."

"Well, there's still Voltra," Flash pointed out, a thoughtful frown growing on his muzzle. "Have you heard anything about her?"

Cynder once again faltered at the mention of the yellow dragoness. In all of the chaos she'd almost forgotten about her, but now that her name was mentioned Cynder felt a rush of old thoughts and feelings come flooding back to her.

"I..." Chinook began, only to trail off. "Actually, no, I haven't heard anything since before the battle. I hope she's okay..."

"Spyro and I saw her at the Infirmary grounds before we left to fight Tyrannica," Cynder spoke up. "She didn't look too badly hurt, but I haven't heard anything since then either."

A few beats of silence fell between the three friends, an air of concern filtering in. It was Flash that found his voice first.

"Maybe Faren knows something?" he suggested. "She was there at the Infirmary too, right?"

Cynder frowned, considering this option. Her mind drifted back to the battle, when she and Spyro had arrived at the Infirmary and reunited with Faren. She recalled the way Voltra had shied away from the three of them, keeping her distance with her father and making no move to interact with any of them. The black dragoness suspected she knew the cause of this behaviour, the accusations that she had levelled in that alleyway ringing in her memories, but did that mean that Voltra was only staying away from her and Spyro, or the whole group?

"Cynder?" Flash's voice broke into her thoughts, startling her. "Everything okay?"

The black dragoness looked up to see both males gazing back at her with concerned and puzzled expressions, and she realized that once _again_ she had zoned out and let her worries show.

_This is turning into a bad habit,_ she scolded herself. She shook her head roughly.

"I don't know if Faren would know anything," she said, carrying on the conversation like nothing had happened. "It's worth a try at least. Maybe if I have time tomorrow I'll try to go visit her and see."

The white and grey dragons exchanged a silent glance with each other, but then Flash met Cynder's eyes and nodded.

"Say hi to her for us if you do see her. Let her know that we hope she gets better fast."

Cynder allowed a smile to form on her muzzle. "I will. I'm sure she'll say the same thing back to you guys."

The atmosphere within the hut became more at ease after that, the trio all reflecting on their own thoughts for a moment. It was then that movement at the doorway drew their gazes, though. When Cynder turned her head around she found Gale leaning her head in from outside.

"Boys, it's getting late. We need to get going."

"Okay, Mom," Chinook replied, while Flash answered with his own obedient nod. The wind dragon turned an apologetic look toward Cynder. "I guess we have to say goodbye here. Thanks for coming to visit again."

"Of course," Cynder smiled. "I'll try to check in on you guys again when I've got a chance. We'll finish catching up then."

"Sounds good."

The conversation ended with another pained growl from Flash as he finally managed to force himself upright. Cynder was quickly over to his side, the light dragon giving her a grateful nod as she helped prop him up with her shoulder. She guided Flash over to Chinook, who was also looking a bit too unsteady to walk on his own, and with her braced between them the trio made their way through the door and out into the chilled evening air. Gale offered an appreciative smile to Cynder as they emerged.

"Come on, you two," she said, most of the sternness gone from her voice and replaced with motherly care. "Once we're back home it's straight to your rooms to rest. You've got a lot of recovering still to do."

She lay down on her belly, bringing her folded wing around to form a makeshift ramp. Flash and Chinook traded a hesitant look, both of them looking embarrassed by the thought of being carried like a pair of hatchlings, but everyone was well aware that in their state the walk back to their house was well beyond their ability. Resignedly, and with Cynder's help, they climbed up the wind dragoness's wing and were soon settled one behind the other atop her back. Giving Cynder one last farewell, Gale set off.

The sky was really starting to darken now, a sharp chill nipping at her scales. Winter was only a month away now, and while Warfang's coastal climate didn't yield any snow like the more northern parts of the continent experienced frost was still common enough. The walkways had quieted noticeably even in the short time Cynder had been inside Flash and Chinook's shelter, all visitors now gone, the patients all settled in for the night. Only guards and the occasional healer could be seen moving about.

A sudden yawn parted the black dragoness' jaws, and all at once Cynder felt the weariness from her hard day's work pressing down on her back. Her stomach rumbled faintly, empty from the lack of an evening meal, but at this point she wasn't sure she had the energy to go get anything. The volunteer food stands would be mostly closed down by this point anyway, and any catches that the hunting parties had brought in would likely have been claimed and distributed already as well. Hunting alone was out of the question too. No one knew what was still lurking outside the walls, and the Guard was taking no chances.

Resigning to wait until morning, Cynder resumed her trek toward her original destination. A few minutes later the large, square shelter that housed the Guardians appeared before her, and she made for the entrance without hesitation. All she wanted to was to get inside, get warm, and settle into her mat for the night.

The sound of wing beats overhead interrupted her. Pausing, Cynder looked up to see another adolescent dragon come to a hover just above the huts' rooftops before folding their wings and dropping over a dozen feet to the paving stones below. Cynder shied away from the thin plume of dust that the impact kicked up before looking up to see Nexus shaking himself off and straightening up.

"Getting in a bit late tonight?" she asked. "I thought the daytime patrols usually ended an hour ago."

"Yeah," Nexus grunted. "Our shadow wing-member thought he felt something when we were passing the woods, though. Took a while to clear the area, and after we got back we had to explain the delay to the wing commander."

Cynder frowned, a hint of tension creeping through her form. "Felt something? In the shadows? Do you think it was a wraith?"

"We can't rule out the possibility," Nexus answered with a small shrug, sounding dismissive, but Cynder caught the hardened edge in his eyes as well. "Everyone suspects that they're still hanging around to keep eyes on the city after the attack. Even if there haven't been any sightings, the smart thing to do is assume it's true."

Cynder didn't answer, her features darkening as she digested this news. While she knew it was naive of her, she had hoped that they could get a true span of peace to recover from the battle. She didn't want to have to deal with the wraiths again so soon.

"What about you?" Nexus suddenly spoke up, snapping her from her thoughts. "You're getting in late too."

"Oh, yeah," Cynder nodded. "I stopped to see Chik and Flash. They're going home tonight."

"Ah," Nexus replied, giving another quick grunt. "Good."

"They were asking about Spyro..." Cynder trailed off, looking toward the entrance of the shelter and biting her lip. "You still haven't had any luck talking to him, have you? Are you going to try again tonight?"

The purple dragon nodded. "That's the plan."

"Okay. Well, if it works, tell him—"

"Tell him you're worried, and you're here for him, yada yada. I know. Sparx is right; all this mushy stuff gets exhausting."

Cynder bristled, trying to hide the flush of embarrassment that rose from the other dragon's dismissal. In the end she said nothing to contradict him, though, and with a small roll of his eyes Nexus padded forward and disappeared into the shelter. After lingering behind for a few second Cynder sighed and followed him.

The sight inside was the same one that had greeted her many times over the past several days, and it brought with it the same melancholy feeling as it always did. Spyro was lying in exactly the same position he had been when she departed that morning, limp on his side, his form shrouded in worn bandages, his expression slack and blank. He looked peaceful at least, no healers working on him at the moment and leaving him alone to rest, but she had been hoping for more. She had hoped against hope that she would walk in and find him awake to greet her, but of course that had been nothing but wishful thinking. She suppressed another sigh, stepping quietly over toward her own thin bedding nearby.

"Oh, hey Damsel," Sparx's voice rang out. Cynder looked up to see the yellow dragonfly floating over toward her, waving. "Another busy day?"

"Hey, Sparkles," Cynder replied, giving a half smirk. "Yeah, busy for sure."

"So what's the tally from today?"

A lighter smile grew on her muzzle. "Seventeen."

"Whoa," Sparx gaped before breaking out in his own grin. "Nice work! You're going to put the professional rescuers out of work if you keep ringing up numbers like those."

The dragoness let out a quiet chuckle. "I don't know about that, but I try my best."

"Yeah, well, keep it up and you just might do it. Wouldn't that be a story, huh? 'Amateur rescue volunteer puts Warfang's best to shame!' Scandalous."

Cynder laughed again, shaking her head. It seemed strange given their history, but the dragoness was genuinely grateful for Sparx's presence and his quips over the past few days—though she would never admit it to him. Hearing him making light of a tense situation as he always did helped her to take it all in stride as well.

Still chuckling to himself, Sparx moved back to rejoin his parents, with whom Cynder exchanged a silent nod before she turned her own attention back toward Spyro. Her smile faded slightly as she stood examining his almost lifeless expression, and she reached out with a paw to gently brush it across his golden crest. As expected, he didn't stir in the slightest.

Disappointed, Cynder stepped away and finally reached her mat, lowering herself down upon it with a weary groan. A few paces away Nexus had already stretched out flat on top of the scrap of rug that served as his bedding, his eyes closed and his form completely still save for the slow, steady rise and fall of his flanks. Cynder couldn't tell if he had already fallen asleep or not, but in the end she dismissed it as irrelevant. Instead she laid her head down atop her forepaws and allowed her heavy eyelids to slide shut, the distant fog of sleep already beginning to close in around her.

_Please, wake up soon Spyro_, she thought longingly, just before her weariness claimed her and she drifted away into empty slumber.

* * *

**(A/N): This chapter gave me a bit of trouble. An issue I'm having is that while I have no shortage of material for this entry in the series, fitting it all together into a cohesive storyline is proving to be a bit of an effort. I appreciate everyone's patience as I get this figured out, as always! :)**

**Random fact for this chapter: I tried to do some research into whether it was actually possible to give water to unconscious people like Oswald did in this chapter, because little details like that can actually bug me once they get stuck in my head. I got mixed results, mostly saying "No, don't do it, it's too high of a choking/drowning risk", but there were enough backing remarks underneath all of that on whether it was technically possible that I felt like, in a more Medieval setting like this, it was reasonable. It was an interesting factoid for me to pick up while writing this, at least.**

**Expect the next update to take a while to complete, sadly. As I said, plot cohesion is a bit out there at the moment so I'm going to take a bit of time to iron out the sequence of events of things to come. Also, it's been way too long since I've drawn anything so I want to take some time as well to get a cover page for this story put together. I know exactly what I want to do for it, so it's just a matter of actually doing it. Hopefully the rust isn't TOO horrible.**

**Until next time!**


	3. Chapter 3: Threat of a Tyrant

**So, work's still ongoing with the story planning and drawing. Currently just trying to nail down sub-plots and doing some concept drawings for things that will feature in the cover page as well as play into the story later on. Bit of a slow progress getting back up to speed (my hand is NOT used to using a drawing tablet anymore), but it's been enjoyable to get back into it.**

**In the meantime, since I was already settled on what this chapter would contain I figured I might as well get it written out to break up the wait/keep a bit of momentum going. I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

_Chapter 3: Threat of a Tyrant_

The air was cold and still, not a breath of wind or the sound of a single living creature disturbing it, but the very next moment a crash like thunder shattered it. The boom echoed with the resonance of a war drum across the darkened stone courtyard. A second later a battered figure slammed into the ground, bouncing and tumbling until coming to rest in a heap. A pained groan emitted from the young dragon as he struggled to roll back into an upright position.

Heart pounding, adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins, Spyro pulled his head up off the ground and shook it to try and drive the ringing out of his ears. His whole body felt like it was on fire, both inside and out. He flinched when a drop of blood fell into his eye, and with a growl he reached up with a forepaw to wipe it clear. It was no use; a steady trickle had taken form.

A shrill, blood-chilling laugh rolled across the stony courtyard to his ears, and Spyro stiffened as his gaze turned up toward another much larger figure that stood across from him. His eyes narrowed and his lip pulled back in a snarl, but behind the brave facade his chest tightened with dread.

"Not so tough now, are you?" Tyrannica jeered, malice and glee flashing in her crimson eyes. "Without your precious friends doing all the work to soften your opponent up for you, you're useless."

A loud, wet squelch sounded out, and Spyro's whole body froze when he saw the green form of Terrador lying before the purple dragoness, one of her forepaws pinning his bulky shoulder down. The dragoness pulled back sharply, and Terrador's body jerked when the blade capping Tyrannica's tail was yanked free. Blood sprayed in all directions, droplets splattering across the stone and Tyrannica's forelegs. Spyro nearly gagged, his body suddenly feeling heavy and frail.

_No..._

"You're weak," she continued, stepping over the Guardian's body to stalk toward her smaller foe. The air whistled when she flicked her tail blade to the side, clearing the blood off it and leaving it gleaming in the dim light. "You're so caught up fighting your own purpose that you're afraid to let your true power loose."

Talons flashed, and before Spyro could even blink Tyrannica's paw had lashed out and smacked him away. He spun through the air again, snapping his wings open in the hope of steadying himself, only to land awkwardly on one of them when he hit the ground. Pain flared from the twisted joints and a sharp groan tore from his jaws. He forced himself to roll back to his feet, his adrenaline being the only thing fuelling him now, and heat bloomed in his throat before a orange and red fireball shot across the square. Tyrannica batted it aside from a wing, almost looking bored save for the smirk that never left her face.

"You're nothing but a disgrace. You have power beyond anyone's wildest dreams. You can vanquish armies. You can level cities. You can shatter mountains and shake the world itself! If you really tried you would have the power to end all of this with a snap of your talons! You could save everyone you care about from their doom, but instead you're so scared of hurting them yourself that you won't even try. You would rather let their blood spill by my claws than risk having it on yours."

Spyro shuddered, her taunting words cutting through him like a lance, but once again he hid it behind defiance. A snarl twisted his features.

"That's not true! I would never hurt then, and I _definitely_ won't let you!"

Tyrannica let out a bellowing laugh, and inside Spyro felt something snap. A ferocious roar erupted from his jaws and the air began to crackle with convexity, the young purple dragon drawing upon his deepest wells of power. Energy gathered between his jaws, fighting to break free.

Pain exploded from his gut without warning, and with a choked gasp Spyro lost hold of his power. It slipped away, dissipating into nothingness. His eyes swung downward to be met with a jagged spike of dark crystal that had stabbed up from the ground beneath him, impaling his underbelly upon its vicious point. Blood flowed down its faceted surface in thin trails, draining his strength away.

He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. Everything was pain, and all he could do was stare at the wound with wide, uncomprehending eyes.

"You're a failure," Tyrannica jeered. Her forepaws appeared at the corner of his vision, and distantly he realized that she was looming over top of him, leaning her head close. "_Defective_. You have no worth to our master now. The only thing left to do with you is put you down."

Spyro choked on the bile that fought to rise into his throat. Somehow he managed to meet his aggressor's gaze, forming a glare and forcing a ragged breath into his lungs.

"You...You c-can't kill me. Ragnor w...wants us alive."

Tyrannica paused, blinking with an expression of surprise flitting across her features. Almost immediately the look of derisive glee returned, however.

"Ha! Is that what you think?" she exclaimed. "Oh, you poor deluded hatchling. Ragnor doesn't want you alive. He wants you to _suffer_! He only wants you live long enough to watch everything and everyone you love get stripped away, piece by _bloody_ _piece_."

Her smirk darkened, twisting with a far more sinister edge, and she motioned with her head to the side. Spyro's own features hardened with suspicion, but nonetheless he worked past the pain and turned his head to follow her guidance.

He wished he hadn't.

He didn't know how he hadn't seen it before. Around the edges of the courtyard, partially obscured by shadows, he could now make out long spears of crystal that had been embedded into the ground, each one piercing through a motionless corpse. With a sickening rush of horror Spyro realized that he knew each and every one of them.

The first figure his gaze met was Volteer, and the Guardian's bulging, empty eyes stared straight back. An eternal expression of shock and agony painted his expression, a spike of crystal as thick as the Guardian's foreleg punching straight through his torso from back to front.

A few metres away was Sirius, then Cyril, both of them skewered just like the electric Guardian. Continuing around the courtyard were his friends; Flash, Faren, Chinook, Enigma, and even Voltra, each one either pinned to the earth by the gigantic violet spears or dangling in the air off of them, suspended like some sort of grotesque decoration. All of them were frozen in broken postures of suffering.

"N...N-no..."

Hunter was lying beside the next spear, the crystal having gouged out his flank. Another spear seemed to have no body accompanying it, and Spyro felt a fleeting sense of confusion until he noticed the crumpled and shattered remains of his parents and Sparx. Another surge of bile rose in his throat, his vision blurring from the sting of tears.

"No!"

Under the next spear Spyro found Nexus, but Spyro only caught a glimpse of him before he was forced to turn his gaze away, the other purple dragon's skull broken under the crystal's impact. And the next crystal...

_Cynder..._

The whole world seemed to stop, any lingering warmth within Spyro's body stolen away. The black dragoness was hanging off of the point of a blade of crystal that had burst out of the ground behind her, through her back and out her chest. Her forepaws were clamped around the deadly point, her head hanging back limply with her mouth ajar. Her wide, emerald eyes stared straight up into the sky, and the drying trails of tears could barely be spotted tracing across her dark scales.

Spyro's body heaved, an anguished cry breaking free, and he snapped his watery eyes shut. From somewhere nearby he heard Tyrannica's vile, sadistic chuckling.

"Do you feel it, hero?" she whispered. "Do you feel the loss? The _despair_?"

Another choking sound was all that the young purple dragon could manage past the lump in his throat. He couldn't even bring himself to cast a hateful glare up at his tormentor. Tyrannica seemed to revel in the sight, cackling.

"Drink it in!" she cried. "Embrace it! This is the reward for your rebellion. _This_ is why Ragnor let you live!"

Spyro finally opened his streaming eyes and looked up toward her. What he saw was the towering dragoness rearing back, her glinting talons poised to strike down at her foe. Spyro tensed, but he had no resistance left to offer. The pain that wracked his body and soul made escape a far-off impossibility.

"Now take that feeling to your grave."

Spyro curled inward, clamping his eyes shut.

That was when a deafening screech rent the air, the familiar howl of convexity blasting against Spyro's ears. He jumped and gave a sharp cry, both from the movement of the crystal in his gut and from the ravenous power of the dark anti-energy lancing past his body. Only a split second later the beam was cut off, however, and in the moments that followed the only sound to be heard was Spyro's haggard panting.

"And I thought _my_ nightmares were bad."

Spyro gasped, his eyes snapping open in an instant. Craning his neck around, he found the source of the voice and froze.

"N..._Nexus_?"

Complete and total confusion swept through his being, erasing every other sensation as he watched his counterpart pad closer. Nexus bore a thin scowl on his face while he swept his gaze back and forth.

"Has anyone suggested getting help?" he asked disdainfully. "Like a councillor or a therapist or something? Because this is some messed up crap you have going on in here."

Convexity crackled around his forepaw as he stepped up to his brother, and when he pressed it against the crystal that Spyro was caught on it shattered into dust. The wounded dragon staggered with a hoarse gasp from the shift in weight, his wound flaring with agony. Before he could collapse Nexus' forepaws had shot out and caught him by the shoulders.

"Steady," he ordered.

It took several moments for Spyro to catch his breath, his body lurching with each unsteady gasp. He needed several attempts before he could form words.

"W...What..." Spyro stammered helplessly. His eyes darted over to the side where Nexus' mostly-headless body was still lying toward the edge of the courtyard, then back to the leaving, breathing copy before him. "H-how—"

"Spyro, snap out of it," Nexus growled, silencing him. "This is a _dream_. You aren't in danger. You aren't hurt. Get. A. Grip."

Those words struck him like a slap across the face. Spyro reeled back, his shaken gaze locked with the harsh, unmoving stare of his brother.

A dream? It wasn't real? But it _felt_ so real! How could any of it be fake?

Nexus seemed to pick up on his hesitation, and he rolled his eyes with a sigh.

"Look, just stand up, alright? Stop sitting there all curled up like a wounded animal. As long as you keep believing that you're in horrible agony you're going to keep feeling it. This is your dream. You're in control. Now, stand up."

Still Spyro was uncertain. His head felt light and his belly was practically screaming at him. He felt like he could pass out at any second.

But...

_Nexus can't be dead _and_ alive and talking to me at the same time_, he reasoned in his mind. _I'm either hallucinating, or he's right_...

He hesitated for a second longer, but then he closed his eyes, sucked a breath in through his teeth and rose to all fours. He waited for the wave of splitting agony to ravage his body, but seconds ticked past and nothing happened.

Confused once more, Spyro opened his eyes and looked down at himself. He gasped when he was met with clean, unblemished flesh and scales. His wounds were gone, as well as the blood. There was no sign of them at all. Not even the gathering puddle on the ground below him remained.

"It is a dream," he muttered weakly.

"That's right," Nexus answered, and Spyro quickly gazed up toward him again. "You're safe."

For a few more seconds Spyro could do nothing more than stand there in shock, his mind spinning helplessly, but after that all of the tension and fear in his body and spirit rushed out of him. He sagged back onto his haunches, reaching up with a paw to his brow. Nexus' forepaw snapped out for a second time to steady him when he wobbled unsteadily.

"That was horrible..." he groaned, his voice weak and deflated.

"Yeah, I gathered," Nexus said distastefully. "Speaking of, can you do something about the scenery? It's getting a bit...off-putting. Seriously..."

Spyro glanced up to see his counterpart scanning their surroundings again, his face twisted in a grimace. He almost looked as well but quickly stopped himself, staring down at his forepaws instead. Even if it was all fake, the sight wasn't one he wanted to relive. Closing his eyes tightly, he wondered exactly _how_ he was supposed to change anything before he resigned himself to just picture them somewhere else, somewhere safe and quiet where all of these horrors could be far away.

At first he wasn't sure if it was working, but gradually the temperature of the air began to warm and the oppressive silence was replaced by the faint croaking of toads, the rustling of insects and the gentle burbling of a calm stream. Opening his eyes, Spyro found himself sitting amongst the familiar scenery of the swamp. Giant mushroom trees formed a protective canopy overhead. The thick earthy scent of moss and mud suffused the air and the bright glistening waters of the Silver River snaked past a few paces away. All at once Spyro was overcome by a powerful sensation of nostalgia, and with a deep, cleansing breath he felt a massive weight fall from his shoulders.

"That'll work," Nexus grunted with a quick nod of his head.

"So it really was just a nightmare," Spyro said quietly. He felt completely drained at this point, and he settled down onto his stomach on the soft dirt while he worked to digest everything that was going on. "...Thanks for stepping in when you did, I guess."

Nexus shrugged. "I'd say you're welcome if it was planned, but it was basically an accident. I've been trying to get in touch with you for the past few days, but before now the link was closed off. I guess you were still too out of it."

Spyro cocked his head to the side. "Out of it?"

"Yeah," Nexus nodded. "You've been unconscious since the battle ended, a bit over a week ago now."

Spyro balked. "A week?"

Nexus merely nodded for a second time. It was at that moment that the word 'battle' properly registered, and a barrage of memories assaulted Spyro all at once. A new knot of worry quickly formed in his stomach.

"Is everyone else okay? What about Cynder? Is she—"

"She's fine," Nexus interrupted, holding a paw up. "Everyone is fine." He hesitated. "Well, mostly fine. Everyone was beat up, but the healers were able to treat them in time."

Spyro let out a huge breath of relief, though his worries weren't completely put to rest yet.

"How are they?"

"Hmm," Nexus grunted, looking like he was debating whether to give him the long or short version of the account. At length he shrugged and said, "I guess I'll start with the Guardians..."

The next several minutes were spent with Nexus summarizing the state of everyone's various injuries, from the relatively minor cases like Cynder—whom Spyro was greatly relieved to hear had no lasting injuries thanks to his healing—to the more severe ones like Flash with his deep slash wound and blood loss, or like Sirius who was touch and go for several days after the torture Tyrannica had inflicted upon him. Spyro was glad to hear that his condition was very slowly improving, but it was still painful to hear that his friend was in such a dire situation at all. As Nexus continued his summary that concern only grew.

"Wait, Volteer's in a coma?" Spyro cut in, alarmed. "How? What happened?"

"The healers called it 'severe elemental over-strain'," Nexus explained. "He basically shorted out his whole system and he just...shut down. They're not sure how long it will take before he wakes up, and after he does they doubt he'll be able to use his element."

"What?" Spyro blurted. "But he will be able to get it back in time, right?"

"That'll be up to him, I guess. It seems like a bad version of what happened to you after you fought Cynder, and you ended up getting your elements back so we'll see."

Spyro frowned, looking away. The thought that Volteer might be left without his element after this mess...it was something he didn't want to consider—not only because of his personal relationship with Volteer, but because after the destruction he saw in the city during the battle he knew that Warfang _needed_ its Guardians. Having one without his powers in a crisis like this could be a disaster.

"And of course that brings us to you..." Nexus finally said.

Spyro's gaze met Nexus' quickly upon those words. A twinge of anxiety worked through him.

"What _did_ happen to me?" he asked.

Nexus' features darkened a touch. After a pause, he answered, "You had a Reversal. You know what that is, right?"

Spyro's eyes went wide, and he didn't answer for a few seconds. He did know what that word meant, recalling one of his lessons on spirit gem magic with the Guardians where the topic of Reversed Recovery had come up.

"But how?" he finally asked. "A Reversal? I wasn't using any spirit gems at the time. The last gems I used were some green ones before the wraith attack at the Infirmary, and I just used them normally."

"Yeah, Cynder told us," Nexus agreed, bobbing his head. "It's weird. The healers are pretty stumped. I've been thinking about it a lot, and I _might_ have a guess about it, but I'm not really sure."

"A guess? What is it?"

Nexus paused for a moment, adjusting his posture as he lay down across from his sibling. "Well, I think it's pretty obvious that it has something to do with your healing power. The Reversal happened right after you tried to use it on Terrador."

Spyro stiffened, his breath catching. The image of the Guardian from his nightmare flashed back into his mind, mixing with his real memories that had been buried underneath it. A hollow feeling began to grow within his chest.

"What did it feel like?" Nexus asked, drawing Spyro's eyes back to him. "When you used your power on him, what happened?"

Spyro swallowed past the lump that wanted to form in his throat. "Uh...Well, it...It hurt. Like, when I use my power normally it has a kind of warm feeling, like a...a stream of energy, going from my chest out to whatever I'm trying to heal. But with Terr..." He faltered, his breath hitching again, and he had to clear his throat roughly. "With...Terrador, it was more like there was this...this bottomless _hole_ where he was supposed to be, and it was sucking all of that warmth away. My power couldn't keep up, and it started to pull all the warmth out of _me_ instead. It hurt a lot..."

Nexus' eyes had narrowed during this whole description, a deep, contemplative scowl growing upon his muzzle. His gaze drifted, and he idly picked at the ground with a claw.

"So it's something inside you that's fuelling that power," he muttered, seemingly more to himself than to Spyro. "Something different than your regular mana pool, if my guess is right..."

"Different?" Spyro repeated. "Why do you think that? It does drain my mana when I use it. That's why I had to use green gems to get my stamina back after using it on Cynder before the Infirmary."

"Right, but if it was just mana then why would a Reversal happen?" Nexus countered. "Misusing green gems just breaks your element. It's misusing red gems that breaks your body. Something deeper's going on."

Spyro had no rebuttal to give to that. His own gaze turned distant, his features scrunching up as he struggled to work out this puzzle.

"The healers say that when a dragon tries to channel a health gem's magic through their body into someone else, their life force gets caught in the flow of magic and gets dragged out of them," Nexus continued. "That's why it's so dangerous. Magic is part of our bodies just as much as it's part of our elements, and if that magic is unbalanced it can backfire on us and rip us apart."

"Right," Spyro said slowly. This was all part of the material covered in his lessons, but he was struggling to see how it applied to him. Nexus appeared to realize this.

"What I think is that your healing power works a bit like channeling red gems," he explained. "It's pulling the magic in your body over to other dragons to repair their wounds, but the difference is that there's no red gem acting as the source. It's all coming from you."

Spyro faltered. "From me? You mean that I'm using up my own life force when I heal people?"

"Maybe," the other purple dragon nodded. "It might be your own life magic, or maybe it's something else and channelling it to another dragon just drags your life magic with it the same way channeling a red gem does."

"And my mana?"

Nexus shrugged. "Maybe your mana is used to direct the healing magic to where you need it to go."

"Wait, wait," Spyro suddenly protested. "But what about when I'm healing myself? If I'm just passing my life force from my own body to myself again, why does that heal me? Isn't it just the same amount of magic going back into me as what came out?"

Nexus opened his mouth only to close it again a second later. His features revealed surprise, as though he hadn't considered this fact before. Very quickly his expression turned to one of frustration.

"Look, I said it was just a guess, alright?" he huffed. "I mean, even without that it still didn't make total sense. In our case convexity is our life force, but when we use our convexity powers too much it just exhausts us. We don't start falling apart like you did."

This time it was Spyro's turn to come up short of an answer. He had a point. It was true that using his healing abilities had a different feeling to it than using convexity. Convexity already came from a place deeper than his regular elements did. Did his healing power come from somewhere even deeper still, or was it something totally different? He just couldn't describe it.

"Well, I don't think it's worth spending a lot of our time trying to figure it out," Nexus eventually grunted. "The important thing is that now we know what happens if you push yourself too far with it. We might not get this lucky if it happens again. You could _die_. You need to be a lot smarter with it."

Spyro shuddered., and he quickly nodded.

"I mean it," Nexus pressed, his face stern. "You need to use it carefully. No more relying on it to go on a berserk rampage, like whatever _that_ was back there with Tyrannica."

Spyro flinched, his mind returning once more to the battle. His memory of it was hazy, which he had come to recognize as a sign that he had lost control and gone dark. What he _could_ remember was a frenzied, insatiable desire for Tyrannica's blood, and that he was willing to power through _anything_ to get it.

That had been stupid—it was more than obvious now. Sure, his power had kept him fighting long after any normal dragon would have fallen to their wounds, and it _had_ let him catch Tyrannica off guard and get some good hits in, but she could have easily landed a killing blow when he had left himself completely open to her counter-attacks. Even aside from that, a Reversal was no joke. What if the healers hadn't been able to help him in time? What if the battle hadn't ended when Tyrannica pulled back, and he'd been left out of commission while his friends had to carry on the battle alone? How many more of them might have died?

How many more would have ended up like Terrador?

Spyro's jaws clenched, his talons digging into the soil below him. Shame was swelling up within him, clawing at his stomach, and no matter how hard he fought against it he couldn't shake it off. The longer he thought about his fallen mentor the more powerful it became.

"What's wrong?"

Nexus' abrupt voice caused Spyro to jump. The other purple dragon was watching him with a suspicious look, a brow raised questioningly.

"Huh?"

"What's going on in your head right now?" Nexus said. "You're getting all depressed and brooding like you do whenever you go on a guilt trip."

Spyro opened his mouth to ask how Nexus knew that before he remembered their link. He sighed, looking away and trying to gather his scattered thoughts. His claws tightened farther in the dirt.

"Is this my fault?" he finally asked.

Nexus' frown deepened. "What?"

"Could I have done more to stop this? If I hadn't let Ragnor into my head at the beach then you wouldn't have had to take me to Ignitus and Warfang wouldn't have been left vulnerable. I just...I feel like I—"

"Stop."

He faltered again, casting a confused look at Nexus. The other purple dragon was glaring at him with clear disapproval.

"Is feeling this way going to help fix anything?" he asked sternly. "Will it change anything that happened?"

Spyro had no answer to give. His mind was blank, completely blindsided by this rebuke.

"There was no way of knowing that an attack would happen when we left. At the beach we made the only reasonable choice we could at the time. Ragnor hit us. We responded in the best way we could. He pushed his advantage. That's how war works."

For several seconds Spyro could only stare back, locked in place by his brother's heated gaze. A short time later he wilted, closing his eyes and clutching at his head with his forepaws. A frustrated groan leaked out.

_Is it just how war works? _he wondered. _It was never like this before..._

He had never felt so lost, and he hated it. When he had been fighting Malefor things had been comparably straightforward. He always knew where he was needed, always had someone pointing him in the right direction. When a threat appeared, he faced it head-on and conquered it. It didn't matter if he doubted himself or felt like he was out of place—whether that was in the swamp among the dragonflies, or among the Guardians in the temple or Warfang. As long as someone was there to tell him what was needed of him, he could press on.

Was he a dragonfly? A dragon of myth and prophecy? A hero? A weapon? It didn't really matter. Whether it was his parents when he was a child, the Guardians, or even Ragnor, others had always given him a purpose to cling to—either by following their guidance obediently, or fighting against it in Ragnor's case. This feeling of purpose was what he could anchor himself to when the world around him was swirling in chaos. No matter how many questions he had burning within his mind, there was at least something concrete he could _do_.

Now? He had more answers he'd ever had in his life. He knew where he came from. He knew why he had these powers. He knew what others expected of him, and he knew what he had to fight against. With this solid footing, he should have been able to fight at his strongest, shouldn't he?

So why was now the moment that he had failed to fulfil the purpose he had been given? The Guardians and Warfang were looking to him as a protector, but here they were: Warfang was broken. Terrador was dead.

His body went rigid again, his claws threatening to cut into his own scales.

"I should have been ready for this," he growled. "You knew that something like this would happen eventually, didn't you? That's what you were trying to get me ready for."

"It was," Nexus replied, "but I knew that Ragnor wasn't just going to wait around and let us prepare. Sooner or later we were going to take a beating. What matters is that we survived. Stop worrying about what-ifs. Focus on being ready for next time."

Spyro was struck by just how _simple_ Nexus made it sound. How could he be so confident? How was he able to just put aside the confusion and pain that had taken hold all around them? Did he just not care? Eventually Spyro lowered his paws and faced his brother again, his expression one of doubt and confusion.

Nexus' face was as cold and unyielding as steel in contrast. The edge of judgement was still there, but it was overshadowed by determination. Through their link Spyro could feel it: Nexus' will to fight and survive, no matter what it took. In his mind there was no room for doubt or second guesses. His path was forward.

_We can't move forward if we stare at the past_...

A spark of clarity broke through the fog of guilt and confusion that was swirling in Spyro's mind. Nexus was right. This was war, and there would be more battles after this one. If he didn't get stronger before then, he would be just as powerless against Tyrannica and the wraiths as he felt now. Warfang still needed him. His friends still needed him to fight. Now that Terrador had fallen he would have to fight even harder than ever.

Nexus could help him. He was trying to make Spyro stronger. He might be the only one that could.

His eyes became sharp. Nexus watched with a glint of curiosity as Spyro pushed himself up off the ground and squared himself to his counterpart.

"Alright," he said, nodding once. "Then teach me."

Nexus' expression faltered for the briefest second. "What?"

"Teach me," Spyro repeated, his tone firm. "Teach me the way you wanted to from the start. I'm done fighting against you. I don't care how hard it gets. I'll do whatever you need me to do. Show me how to be stronger."

Nexus was silent, studying the other youth for a long moment with a hard, unreadable look about him. Through their link Spyro could sense a mix of emotions, ranging from surprise to doubt. He didn't give voice to any of these feelings, however. He remained stoic.

"You're sure?" he finally asked.

Spyro nodded. Nexus' face hardened.

"Alright. Then rest up, because it'll be the last rest you get. As soon as you wake up we're getting to work."

With that the conversation was over. Spyro could feel his connection to Nexus waver, and a second later the other purple dragon had closed it off. He began to fade like mist, before Spyro knew it he had completely vanished without a trace. Just like that the unconscious purple dragon was alone, left in the swamp with nothing but his thoughts to accompany him.

Nexus' parting words sent a fleeting chill through Spyro's body, but he pushed it aside with a shake of his head. He couldn't afford to be weak now. Too many people were depending on him. He couldn't fail them again.

Settling back down onto his stomach, he tried to let the tranquil sights and sounds of the swamp ease his tense spirit and muscles. With nothing else to occupy his mind his thoughts drifted back to the nightmare that Nexus had just liberated him from, and a scowl worked across his muzzle.

In that moment he found himself wondering just what the indigo dragoness that haunted his sleep was up to then...

***.*.***

There were few moments in her life that made Tyrannica as apprehensive as she was right now.

She was standing in the heart of her underground lair, in the middle of the grand chamber that served as her command centre and throne room of sorts. There she watched as three large male dragons strained to balance a thick ring of dark, gleaming stone in their forepaws, their limbs straining from the weight.

"Steady!" she called. "Hold steady! You drop that and it will mean your heads!"

The threat was pointless, really. Under the constant sway of her mind-controlling crystal implants these dragons were barely more than emotionless drones. Subjecting them to the threat of death wouldn't motivate them any more than it scared them—which was to say, not at all. Still, it was an outlet for her and one she strongly needed as her stress continued to build.

That was no ordinary stone that the dragons were holding. It was Etherite; the purest and most carefully refined of the precious material that Tyrannica had been able to collect. She had spent the past week meticulously crafting it into the flawless ring that it was today, a perfect conduit for any variety of magical energy that she pleased. With such exacting precision came delicacy, however, and one tiny slip could see all of her effort crumble into ruin.

It wasn't just the risk of damage that had her on edge, though. This would also be the first test on the quality of her Etherite craftsmanship. If her master's plans were to come to fruition this test _needed_ to be a success. There was no backup plan. Failure was not an option.

Moving at a snail's pace, the three dragons inched the ring lower and lower, aiming for the notches in the three-pronged crystal pedestal that stood between them and reached up to their hips. The pedestal was just as carefully crafted as the ring, though thanks to Tyrannica's innate powers it was a far less taxing endeavour. The two pieces were engineered to slot flawlessly together. As long as her dragons fulfilled their task without mistakes there should be no complications.

And so, when the faintest glassy sound of grinding crystal reached her ears Tyrannica reacted instantaneously.

"_STOP!_"

The three dragons id as ordered, freezing in place and not daring to move a single muscle. Tyrannica bounded over to the pedestal, heart racing anxiously as she leaned her head down to inspect the ring. The contact point with the first notch appeared fine, but on the second she found the problem.

The pointed crystal tip on the inside edge of the carved groove was biting into the surface of the Etherite, leaving an almost invisible pale scar in the otherwise obsidian-like surface. One of the dragons on the far side of the ring was the culprit, standing upon a more uneven section of stone and allowing his side of the ring to drop the barest of millimetres below the rest in his efforts to maintain his balance. This tiny deviation was enough to throw off the alignment of the ring and the pedestal.

"Do _not_ move," she growled to all three dragons.

Suppressing her anger beneath a silent sneer, the purple dragoness brought her forepaws up to hover just above the pedestal, channelling her powers. At the three contact points the crystal along the inner edge of the grooves warped and receded, rippling like water. Without allowing her power to waver she pointed her snout at the dragon she had picked out before.

"Up...Stop. Now all of you down together, _slowly_."

Again they obeyed, inching the ring downward with painstaking care. Tyrannica watched with razor-sharp intensity, using her power to ensure that the crystal contacts remained well clear of the ring while it was set in place. Several tense seconds later a dull _thunk_ sounded when the bottom of the ring touched down on the pedestal supports.

"Alright, it's done," Tyrannica huffed, glaring momentarily at the three dragons as they stepped back. "Now leave my sight."

They departed without a word, wandering off into the branching tunnels. Tyrannica quickly dismissed them from her thoughts with one last bitter snort. Leaning closer to the pedestal, she drew upon her powers once more and began molding the crystal supports back into their original shape. The inside edge of the notches pressed against the darker ring, covering the crystal connection points that she had embedded into the ring, sealing the whole construction together. A moment later she released the flow of magic and took a step back.

_This had better work..._

The indigo dragoness turned to the last piece of this puzzle: a large, almost transparent block of crystal that was lying next to the pedestal. It was shaped like an octagon in the middle with two elongated points extending from the top and bottom, creating a bipyramid shape. It was big enough to easily fit Tyrannica's head inside, horns and all, and it took both forepaws for her to lift it. Even with her strength it took considerable effort.

Balancing awkwardly between her hind legs and tail, she cautiously stepped over to the pedestal and hoisted the crystal above it. Lowering it through the middle of the ring was difficult on her own, and she almost regretted sending the other dragons away, but a minute later she heard a smooth _clink_ as the lower point of the crystal slid into a carved recess in the centre of the pedestal.

It was a perfect fit. Relieved, Tyrannica released the crystal and stepped back to examine her work, rolling her right shoulder to try and work out the soreness that had built up from the strain. The centre crystal sat with its widest point directly aligned with the top of the Etherite ring and perfectly centred in the middle of the circle. The smooth polished surface gleamed in the cool light cast by the dark crystal fixtures in the ceiling. The whole structure reached to about a foot below Tyrannica's chin now that it was completed.

"Now the moment of truth..." she muttered.

Sitting back and closing her eyes, Tyrannica drew in a long, deep breath and released it just as slowly, emptying her mind. Lifting her forepaws, she began focusing her fire element into them. The air between her paws glowed with flickering heat, a sphere of red flame taking shape. Focusing harder, she pushed more power into it until it shone like a miniature sun. The flames roared louder and hotter until, with a flash, they flared out and leaving an orb of pure elemental energy behind.

Her brow creased with concentration. With her right paw Tyrannica maintained the stream of mana to the orb of fire, but with the other she shifted her focus to her earth element. Green light encircled her claws before a ball of stone materialized. She clenched her talons, compressing the sphere. Cracks appeared across its surface, emerald light shining through from within. Tighter and tighter she focused the power until, with a sharp crack, the sphere collapsed in on itself, the stone condensing into a constantly shrinking ball. Eventually it couldn't be compressed any further, and it too phased into an orb of raw elemental magic. Just as with the first she shifted the orb over to her right paw, supporting both streams of mana at once.

Ice came next, a chilling ball of snow hardening into thin frozen crystals that melded together, then shattered inwards and revealed a blue sphere of light when the magic was condensed to its breaking point. Sustaining three equal flows of mana was beginning to truly strain her concentration, her right foreleg beginning to burn from the flow of concentrated magic running through it. It started to tremble, and she couldn't stop it no matter how hard she fought. She gave up trying, unable to spare any of her focus as she began drawing on the power of electricity.

She sucked in a sharp, rattling breath, her lip pulling back to reveal her clenched teeth. Splitting her attention between four elements was pushing her to the limit of her abilities, and more than once one of the other three orbs of power would begin to waver and flicker, sending a jolt of panic through her chest as she scrambled to stabilize it. It was a delicate balancing act, one she'd never had to perform before, but she refused to back down from the challenge. It took several minutes, but at long last the twisting, crackling ball of lightning dancing across the talons of her left forepaw began to settle, collecting into a focused point before the hum of electricity died down and a glowing yellow orb took its place. Drawing her paws together, she manoeuvred the four elemental orbs into a group in front of her, the four lights slowly orbiting each other as though in a silent dance. Her forelegs felt like they were on the verge of seizing up at this point, her core strained and aching from the power drain.

_And now,_ she thought breathlessly, _for the difficult part..._

Without allowing her focus on the four elements to waver, Tyrannica began drawing upon the final ingredient in this ritual: the power of convexity itself. The ache in her forelegs became painful as a faint violet mist surrounded her them, flowing down toward her claws. There it collected, growing brighter like the orbs from the primary elements, but where their focused power had settled into a calm and static node of light convexity was a different beast. It crackled hungrily, purple bolts of power snapping into the air and reaching toward the natural elements, seeking to annihilate its opposites. Tyrannica doubled her concentration, subduing it under sheer force of will. She was in control.

Drawing convexity's power outward, she forced it away from her talons and into the air, molding it into a circular, hollow shell. It wrapped around the four main elements, their power faltering slightly when the extra-dimensional magic continued trying to pull them into itself. Tyrannica would not allow them to mix. She held them all at bay, her whole body shaking from the exertion now. She finally opened her eyes, steely gaze locked upon the gathered powers, and her breathing was coming in shuddering gasps.

_Order, and chaos. Two opposites combined. Balance. I need balance. You will find balance. You _will_ obey me!_

It was almost like the elements heard her. Molded by her stubborn willpower the erratic spirals of the orbs became calm once more. The shell of convexity was silent, no longer reaching to snuff out the primary powers. Sensing her chance, the indigo dragoness pulled her trembling forepaws together, clenching them into fists. The elemental orbs and the purple shell shrank down upon themselves, condensing toward a single point just like each of the individual elements before. Combined, the power of the four natural elements were able to counteract the destructive might of the void, and from their stalemate harmony arose. The clashing motes of colour blended together, their glow brightening to a nearly perfect white brilliance that nearly blinded Tyrannica.

_Yes. It's working! Almost there!_

She pushed her forepaw forward, forcing every ounce of power she had left into the amalgamation. With unsteady steps she advanced, stretching her forepaws out toward the pedestal. The dark crystal pulled hungrily at the overflowing fount of power that Tyrannica held before her, and this time she didn't fight it. The light stretched, and as if the crystal was a living creature trying to breathe it in thick tendrils split from the main orb and flowed into the nearest two legs of the pedestal. Almost immediately the crystal began to glow from within, trapping the collected power within its lattice.

It travelled upward, following the three points of crystal toward the ring of Etherite. A low, otherworldly hum began to emanate from the mystical stone, and a muted blue-white glow became visible from deep within its dark surface, flowing around its circumference like an endless stream. Faster and faster is circled, growing to impossible speeds until it was almost hypnotic.

Over the course of the next several seconds the rest of the power Tyrannica had gathered was drawn into the crystal, the hum increasing in pitch and volume all the while. Finally, the last ounce of magic had been captured, and with an exhausted heave the dragoness slumped forward, her forelegs nearly collapsing when they met the stony floor, her head and wings drooping as though they were filled with solid lead.

Bolts of magic jumped from the Etherite ring toward the central crystal, and in the space enclosed by the pedestal's legs a misty light manifested, swirling around the double-pyramid which also began to glow. The crystal started to rise, carried higher and higher until only the lowermost tip remained encircled by the ring. The bolts of magic acted like a supporting web, holding it in position as it slowly rotated in place. The glow within its surface coiled and shifted, every colour imaginable phasing in and out of sight. The magical hum was growing softer by this point, diminishing to a mere background drone that was ever-present but barely noticeable above Tyrannica's laboured breathing.

She watched it for a solid minute, practically unblinking as she studied the construction for any sign at all of instability. Her heart felt like it was lodged in her throat while she waited for something to go wrong. She was sure the magic was going to become unbalanced. At any moment she thought the magical vortex would collapse, or the power would simply dissipate into nothingness. Maybe the whole device would simply explode in a torrent of elemental fury that would tear her to pieces. The longer the silent hum drew on, the more on-edge she became.

_Did...Did it work?_

For another moment everything was still, but then the mist shifted and Tyrannica flinched back. Instead of erupting in a deadly blast, however, the mist instead thickened and darkened in hue, becoming much more like the clashing purples and violets of convexity. The slow circling accelerated until it looked like a miniature hurricane was trapped within the ring, the colours within the Etherite racing faster than ever before. The bolts of magic jumping from the ring's inner surface to the central crystal intensified, and the calmly shifting colours within it turned into a warping, twisting mass.

The colours began to deepen, separating and arranging themselves into a more defined shape. It took a few seconds, but eventually an image started taking form. It resolved into a three-dimensional replica of a dragon's head, and while the image was blurred and hazy around the edges it was still easily recognizable. Tyrannica felt an instinctual jab of fear in her chest, for even though the image was slightly smaller than its real-life counterpart Ragnor's jagged features and his steely, burning red gaze were more than enough to send a chill rushing through her soul.

"Master," she whispered, immediately bowing her head low and fighting to control her breathing.

The ancient purple dragon didn't respond at first, turning his head this way and that to take in his surroundings. A deep, contemplative hum sounded out from within the spinning crystal.

"You've done well," he said at last, gazing down toward the pedestal and the magic circling within the Etherite ring. "The connection appears to be stable. It is not as clear as it could be, but it is holding."

"Thank you, Master," Tyrannica answered breathlessly, still not raising her head. She tried her utmost to still the trembling in her limbs and chest, but her laboured breathing was more than apparent regardless. Ragnor's features clouded.

"Opening the rift has exhausted you."

"I'm fine, Master," the indigo dragoness protested, finally rising to meet his gaze. "It wasn't too taxing. My strength will return momentarily."

"No, I can sense it. Even for such a small link, the effort of breaching through convexity's veil seems to have been a struggle even for someone of your power. It's as I thought: Without being located at a magical focus point, the strain of opening a rift is too great."

"Master, the plan will still work," Tyrannica insisted. After all of this effort she wasn't ready to accept another defeat.

"Yes," he rumbled. "It will, however adjustments will need to be made. You constructed this ring out of your finest grade Etherite, correct?"

Tyrannica nodded her head. "Yes, Master."

"How much more do you have available?"

The dragoness hesitated, her wings drooping marginally.

"Not as much as we would like," she admitted. "Blue spirit gems were scarce in this region. The wraiths scoured the land for miles in all directions, but even after refining the Etherite from the red and green crystal patches I was only barely able to obtain enough to meet your requirements. The final ring will be of lower quality than this one."

Ragnor gave another deep rumble, his brow creasing in thought.

"That will not be sufficient. The ring's composition will need to be reinforced with more Etherite conduits for a more efficient power flow. You must find more blue gems."

Tyrannica bit back a groan. She had been afraid of that.

"Of course, Master, but that will be difficult. If the wraiths expand their harvesting efforts farther out the surrounding villages will take notice. I'll need time to subdue them first."

"Yes, I am aware. Do what you must."

The dragoness bowed her head. "Yes, Master." She then paused for a span of a few seconds, a new thought crossing her mind, and after debating with herself she pushed herself to ask, "If I may, Master; what about Warfang?"

Ragnor's projection arched a brow. "What of it?"

"Shouldn't I be pressing an attack against them while they're recovering from the last battle?"

Her master's eyes narrowed a touch. "Aren't you also still recovering from that battle?"

"My injuries have healed well enough," Tyrannica answered, straightening her posture and hiding her wince when her shoulder twinged again. "I'm fit to carry out any orders you give me."

"Be truthful with me, Tyrannica," Ragnor growled. "You think I haven't noticed how you still favour your shoulder? Even if it is minor, any handicap can be exploited. Warfang is greatly weakened, but they are also on the highest alert they've ever been. Nexus is there, and at full strength. Spyro was still unconscious when I last observed the city, but I doubt he will remain that way for long. Are you ready to face their combined power in your state, particularly after what I told you?"

Tyrannica hesitated, her confident air faltering. She glanced down at her right shoulder, taking in the collection of chipped, discoloured scales that still lingered there, not yet having been replaced by new ones. Red gems had taken care of her other injuries without much trouble, but convexity's scar was harder to erase.

"Your eagerness to serve pleases me," Ragnor spoke, bringing her eyes snapping back to his image, "but there is a time for action and there is a time for patience."

"I don't understand, Master," Tyrannica scowled. "Warfang was not destroyed like you ordered. The longer we wait, the more they can rebuild their forces."

"Not for some time yet. You did not raze the city entirely, but you accomplished more than enough to cripple them. You were at least successful in eliminating their strongest leader, and without this figurehead they will be lost until they can find their footing again. You have bought a valuable window for us to exploit, but not by facing them directly and expending more of your own forces. Remember, our condition of victory does not depend on eliminating Warfang or its army."

Tyrannica was silent, mulling over her master's words. This felt too..._passive_. She was struggling to reconcile this position with the swift, merciless judgement he had brought down upon her the last time she had failed in her duty. So caught up in her inner conundrum was she that at first she didn't register the nudge of pressure at the base of her skull. When she did she jolted, her eyes leaping up to meet Ragnor's piercing stare.

"I sense your confusion," he rumbled. "Do not misunderstand me. As I said: a time for action, and a time for patience. Knowing when to wait and bide my time has been my most valuable asset in the long millennia of my imprisonment. Lashing out in a bout of rage when the timing is not advantageous could cost me millennia more, just as the assault against Warfang may have if your instincts for battle had not guided you the way they did. I did not punish you for the outcome of the assault because it was a gamble in the first place, and victory on that battlefield was never assured."

Still Tyrannica found herself without a reply, her gaze locked with Ragnor's, eyes narrowed inquisitively.

"Understand this, Tyrannica," he said sternly. "Contrary to what you may believe, I do not punish failure itself. I punish _disloyalty_. A servant who fails to obey her master's orders is useless. A servant who fails because the orders given to her were ill-conceived but who remains obedient in the face of them still has potential. Remember that. As long as you continue to demonstrate that potential your place as my servant is secure. However, if that potential disappears..."

A deep shudder ran through Tyrannica's being. Ragnor didn't need to complete his sentence for its meaning to carry through. She bowed her head low once more, her eyes cast downward.

"Yes, my Master," she declared. "I live to obey."

"Good. Then obey this. It will take some time or Warfang's forces to collect themselves. Their numbers are diminished and their allies are spread thin, partially thanks to your efforts. If and when they do manage to rally their allies to them, however, you will need enough strength on your side to repel them. Begin harvesting more blue Etherite, but at the same time I want you to focus on bolstering your forces by any means available and make yourself ready to strike at Spyro and Nexus the moment they are vulnerable."

"I understand."

"Good. Then I will await your report once you have enough Etherite to proceed with the plan."

The image within the crystal rippled, and a second later it dissolved completely into mist when the rift between planes was cut off. The rushing vortex stilled, the bright glow becoming muted, and the magic surrounding the central crystal now became peaceful and calm, the crystal appearing to rest upon a hazy cloud rather than being gripped by a tempest. A scarcely perceptible hum remained, a mere echo of the power that now lay dormant within the pedestal.

Tyrannica stood in silence for almost a minute, examining the ring and pedestal with sharp scrutiny. Though disappointed with the final result, the test had nonetheless been a technical success. Now that they had proven that a stable rift through convexity could be opened from her end, it was only a matter of refining the conduit and finding the right power source. There was work still to be done, but it was a step in the right direction. The time of reckoning was drawing nearer. Ragnor _would_ be free.

_And I'll be the one who freed him._

A grim smile crossed her muzzle at that thought. No longer would she be the failure, disgraced for choosing herself over her mission. Where every other purple dragon had fallen short of their purpose, she would be the one to succeed. She would prove at last that she was the most capable of them all, and she would cement her position at her master's side for ages to come.

She could see the final stretch now. Soon it would all come together.

But first, Ragnor was right. Her current forces were limited. She couldn't continue to stretch her garrison of wraiths farther and farther abroad without leaving her position vulnerable. She would need more soldiers before she could claim the resources still missing for her master's plan, and to fight the coming battles against the Dragon Realms' defenders.

Turning about, she marched into the twisting corridors of her underground lair. Down she went, following the maze of crystal-lit tunnels deeper into the earth until she emerged in a great chasm, the corridor coming abruptly to an end at a wide viewing platform ringed by crystal growths.

The clanging of hammers and metal echoed through the open chamber, wraiths and controlled dragons alike working at makeshift forges to repair armour and gear that had been damaged in previous skirmishes. The equipment varied in quality from the cheap bronze and iron of local village militias to the gleaming, polished steel of the Eastern City Guard. On the opposite wall a row of fire pits crackled, cooking food rations that had been hunted from the surrounding plains and woods.

In the centre of the chamber, arranged in orderly rows, dozens of dragons stood tall. They were so still that they could have been mistaken as statues, and not a word was spoken among them. The only real sign of life came when they noticed the arrival of their mistress. In eerie unison their eyes turned up toward her, awaiting her instruction.

Spreading her broad crimson wings, Tyrannica hopped into the air and glided down into the chamber. She touched down before the ranks of her converted servants, eyeing the various groups keenly. The neat rows they stood in were subdivided into smaller clusters, each distinguished from the others by more particular characteristics such as elemental sub-species, pieces of attire like farmers' cloaks or craftsmen's sleeves, and more.

Pacing between the rows, Tyrannica considered each of them before coming to stop before one of the larger groups, consisting of six dragons of various ages. The oldest was a male ice dragon nearing his elder years. The youngest was a teenaged female fire breather that was just nearing the age of adulthood. The others were all in the region of their prime, their bodies toned and their eyes sharp.

"You," she said, jerking a wing talon toward the foremost member of the group, the elder. "What was the name of your village again?"

"Dark Hollow, Mistress," the ice dragon replied.

Tyrannica nodded, thinking back to the reports she had heard with that name. It was one of the closer villages to the mesa, relatively isolated. Located on a set of cliff tops as well as built into the caves and tunnels beneath, it could be difficult to reach if not approached by air.

"Population?" she asked.

"Between forty and fifty."

Tyrannica nodded. "Alright. The six of you will take a squad of wraiths and set out as soon as possible. Travel to the village, and once darkness falls you'll infiltrate it and subdue it."

"Infiltration will be difficult, Mistress. They will be on alert after our disappearances."

"Find a way. It doesn't have to be stealthy. As long as you and the wraiths get into a position to overwhelm the village quickly I don't care how it's done. Try to capture any dragons who are able to fight. With the wraiths' help you are to return them here as soon as you're able."

"Yes, Mistress," the elder said with a stiff bow. "And what about the ones who can't fight?"

"Again, I don't care. As long as they don't spread word of what happened to anyone else it isn't my concern."

The ice dragon bowed again. Without another word the group of six turned and padded over to the forges, two of the stronger members—clearly from the village's militia—retrieving light bronze armour sets from the workers there and setting to work donning them. Satisfied, Tyrannica moved on to another group of dragons a few paces away, singling out a large, female earth dragoness.

"Now, you. Tell me more about _your_ village..."


End file.
